


Aethelfrith the Wise [Part One]

by IhaveAbadfeelingAboutThis



Series: Aethelfrith Universe [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Adoption, Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting, Angst, Asexual Character, BAMF Sorting Hat, F/M, Hogwarts Headmasters, Hogwarts House Sorting Ceremony, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Occlumency, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), hat stall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2020-06-25 08:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19741606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IhaveAbadfeelingAboutThis/pseuds/IhaveAbadfeelingAboutThis
Summary: The Sorting Hat is Not Having It. Children trying to request houses? What an 11 year old thinks they want is irrelevant to a 1000-year-old sentient, apparating, mind-reading hat.But Aethelfrith’s adventures are not limited to the Welcoming Feast; after all, 1000 years of being brought out just once a year to read children’s minds would be an absurdly boring existence.Sorting Hat? This Hat does much more than sort! The possibilities are endless for Aethelfrith the Wise.





	1. 1895: Aberforth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part one of a work chronicling 120 years of Aethelfrith “Sorting Hat” The Wise changing the course of British wizarding history. We can’t have a world without angst, but with Aethelfrith at the wheel, there will be far less murder and manipulation than in Rowling’s “Pushover Sorting Hat” Universe.
> 
> Everyone is a bit OOC, and many events change (this is an AU!) because The Sorting Hat (“my name is Aethelfrith!”) takes charge, and people end up in different houses than in canon. 
> 
> Because there is such a lot of time skipping, and characters that move in and out of the narrative, you could also read this as a series of one shots set in the same universe. But among other common threads, if Aethelfrith is not "on-screen," neither are we "in the audience."
> 
> Standard disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. I am making no money off of this absurd distortion of the original stories.

Chapter 1  
Aberforth Dumbledore  
September 1895

Aberforth stood with the other nervous would-be first years. He didn’t know what was going to happen next, and he certainly didn’t know what a singing hat had to do with anything, but he did know that he was not officially enrolled at Hogwarts until he was sorted. 

Not that he particularly wanted to be enrolled at Hogwarts. Mother needed him at home, to help with Ariana. Albus had abandoned the family for his learning, but Aberforth could learn everything he needed to from Mother – how to control his magic, how to do a few household spells, and some healing spells, and maybe a Confundus to help protect his family.  
Albus had come home from his first year at Hogwarts raving about “The Art of Transfiguration.” When Aberforth learned that it was not possible to transform things into food, he lost interest. What was the use of turning a button into a beetle? But Mother had insisted that Aberforth ‘not pass up this opportunity,’ so here he was, waiting to be sorted. Perhaps he would not be sorted at all? Perhaps he could pass himself off as a Squib? 

His thoughts were interrupted by a shout of “Slytherin!” One of Headmaster Black’s children. The voice had come from... the hat? Sure enough, Black took the hat off his head, placed it on the stool, and gave a curt bow to it. Then he walked to a table under a green banner. The table where Aberforth could now see his brother was sitting. 

Madam Black, the Headmaster’s wife, called for him next: “Mr. Aberforth Dumbledore, please come forward.” 

Fine. He would see what this was all about, and then maybe he would get to go home. “Sit on the stool and put Aethelfrith on your head, dear,” Madam Black whispered to him.  
Aethelfrith? Did she mean the hat? Had she actually named a hat?  
But he was aware that questioning Madam Black would be rude, so he restrained his curiosity and his impatience. “Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am.”

“Ah, the youngest Mr. Dumbledore.”  
Now there was a hat talking in his head! This was... unwelcome.  
“Yes, your brother didn’t like it much either.”  
“I’m nothing like my brother!”  
“No, I daresay you are not. Not a Slytherin at all.”  
“Well, I guess I ought to go home then, if there’s no place for me in the family house.”  
The Hat laughed. (And when, Aberforth wondered, did I start thinking of him as The Hat, rather than a hat?)  
“The family house? Not at all little one. There is no requirement that family members share the same house. In fact, your father was a Gryffindor, and your mother was a Hufflepuff.

“Oh! That’s interesting! You don’t want to be like your father, either, do you?”  
“He left us. It was cowardly to leave Mother to take care of us all by herself.”  
“Ah. But she hasn’t been by herself, has she? She has Ariana.”  
“Not anymore.”  
“Not since the accident.”  
“Since the attack!” This would have been a shout, if Aberforth had been speaking out loud.  
“That’s right. Good boy. It was not an accident at all. And yet it also was an accident. Could those boys have known what would happen, I wonder?”  
Before Aberforth could formulate a sufficiently indignant reply, The Hat changed directions. “You are angry but you are also wondering how I know about Ariana, the Hidden One. She is on your mind, as she was on Albus’ mind when I sorted him.”

“I’m not sure it is legal to use Legilimens on someone who is not convicted of a crime.” He _was_ sure. It _was_ illegal. And Albus did it all the time anyway. He had been practicing on Aberforth all summer.  
“I’m not a Legilimens, child. I can only read what is in the very front of your mind. I cannot see your memories, or your fears, or your desires, unless you are thinking them while I am on your head. I do not know what you had for breakfast this morning.... Well, now I do.” The Hat had the audacity to laugh. 

“Your mother wants you to be here. You know she does. She told you again this morning. Give her a year, hmm? Aberforth? And then you and she can discuss it over summer break.”  
“I just don’t see what good it will do, being here.”  
“No, I suppose you don’t. But I do. You need friends like yourself, especially older children, who can help you learn how to manage your anger and channel your strong emotions, as they have had to learn to do themselves. A group of children with whom you can work and play and begin to discover the true meanings of courage and cowardice. You will find a place in....  
“GRYFFINDOR!!!”

The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers as Aberforth made his way reluctantly to the place signifying his enrollment, the assignment that meant that indeed he would be staying in the castle, rather than returning home tomorrow.

In the moment before the next child came up to be sorted, Aethelfrith looked to the Slytherin table, to the older Dumbledore boy. He had a small smile on his face as he looked, not at his brother, but at Aethelfrith himself. Drawn to power, that one, at the expense of his family – even at the expense of himself. Reckless, like a Gryffindor. He hoped that he would learn how to moderate his impulses in Slytherin – learn that it was possible to balance self-preservation and loyalty to family with his drive for control.  
For all of his bitterness, Aberforth would be fine in the end. But Albus – Aethelfrith feared that Albus was less well equipped to play the hand he was dealt, and he did not have the humility to see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering about the breakdown of the four parts of Aethelfrith the Wise, here you go:
> 
> Part One: 1895-1947  
> Part Two: 1961-1982  
> Part Three: 1987-1995  
> Part Four: 1997-2017


	2. 1899: Phineas and Aberforth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore Family Drama, continued:  
> Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black attempts to use the tragedy of Kendra and Ariana as a means of manipulating Aberforth, prompting the Sorting Hat to intervene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Headmasters never seem to think about how much information the Sorting Hat is privy to, sitting on the shelf in the Headmaster's office. Or perhaps they are under the illusion that Aethelfrith serves them. Behind the scenes, Aethelfrith is protecting the interests of the students of Hogwarts, even (especially?) when the Headmaster is not.
> 
> If you are also reading The Greater Good, this chapter takes place around chapters 7 and 8 of that work, and is also relevant to chapter 30.

Chapter 2  
Aberforth Dumbledore and Phineas Nigellus Black  
August 1899

Aberforth sat in a very stiff chair in the Headmaster’s office, waiting. Headmaster Black was absorbed in a book. Periodically he would raise a finger, as if to say, “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” Aberforth could not guess what stimulated these intermittent gestures, as he had not made a sound, nor even fidgeted since entering the office. Phineas Nigellus Black was not known to be a patient man, and however much of a temper Aberforth had, he could recognize and properly respect a powerful man prone to far more powerful outbursts.

At last, Headmaster Black lifted his head. “How are you enjoying your first summer at Hogwarts, Mr. Dumbledore?”  
Aberforth looked back at him blankly. His mother was dead, his sister was in St. Mungo’s, and his brother was... abroad. His father had died less than a year ago. Some would imagine that the loss of Percival Dumbledore hardly counted, what with him having been in Azkaban for years, but Aberforth’s _anger_ at his father had been almost a tangible presence, filling the void left after his father’s arrest, and he couldn’t find it in him to stay angry with his father after his death. Everything familiar – everything familiar but Hogwarts – had been stripped away from him. He would not now be one of Headmaster Black’s pet “summer students” if he hadn’t been utterly cut adrift.  
No. Aberforth could not say that he was enjoying his summer. 

The Headmaster narrowed his eyes, and Aberforth realized that he had been silent too long.  
“I am grateful for the opportunity, sir.”  
Headmaster Black arched an eyebrow. “Indeed.”  
He lifted his teacup as if to drink from it, but then sat it back down.  
“Mr. Dumbledore. You will be taking your OWLS at the end of this year.”  
“Yes sir.”  
“You are signed up for Defense, Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms.”  
“Yes sir, those are all required classes, sir.”  
“As well as Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures.”  
“Yes sir.”  
“Not Runes?”  
“I’m not very good at languages, sir.”  
“I think you will find, Dumbledore, that you need Runes. It is traditional. A half-blood like yourself would do well to be seen honoring wizarding traditions. I suggest that you drop Herbology and Magical Creatures, and add Runes and History.”  
“Sir –“

“Additionally, there is a seminar available to a very few students each year, on Wizarding Politics. I will be bringing you with me to the Wizengamot whenever I attend a session.”  
“I – don’t understand, sir. Did Albus...?”  
“Ah, your brother. Yes, he would have made a very good candidate for this seminar had I known –“  
Had he known what, Aberforth wondered.

Headmaster Black tapped his fingers on the desk for a moment.  
“I am very sorry about your mother. I was just a few years ahead of her at school. Played against her on the pitch – formidable opponent. Still, it seemed to me no place for a witch. Perhaps Mudbloods have different standards. Perhaps she didn’t know any better.”  
Aberforth’s first impulse was to leap out of his chair and strangle the Headmaster. And why not? He had nothing left to live for. But he remembered his mother. She would have said that he would honor her more by completing Hogwarts than by throttling the Headmaster. He shut his eyes, but knew that would not go unnoticed. Perhaps if he looked just over the Headmaster’s shoulder, at his bookshelf, instead of at him... He began reading the spines of the books.  
Yes, that was sufficiently distracting. If only he could somehow surreptitiously shut his ears as well, that would make it easier to avoid committing homicide. 

“She just _would not_ cut ties with her family. Her parents, her brother... she just had to live in the same filthy Muggle village as they did. I confronted your father about it. He said that she insisted that there was no real difference between Muggles and Wizards. Well. We all know what happened next. Your sister – who might she have become if your father had not caved to your mother’s wishes, if they had lived in a proper wizarding village?  
“Muggles destroyed your sister. Your father was taken from you for treating those Muggles as was his right. And now your mother has been killed by your sister who cannot control herself, because of Muggles. Your whole family is a cautionary tale about what happens when Wizards try to coexist with Muggles. They are dangerous. Barbarians. 

“So. You asked about Albus. I heard that he had left England, which was a keen disappointment to me. He didn’t see this whole tragedy for the opportunity it is.”  
Opportunity? Opportunity?!  
Aberforth’s eyes flicked towards the Sorting Hat. Was he just imagining things? Was it possible for a hat to look sympathetic?  
“Still. You will do. A young wizard, orphaned by Muggles. Taking control of the narrative now will position you nicely. It is rare for a halfblood to sit on the Wizengamot, but with your story, together with the sponsorship of the Black family, you could become the focal point for tighter restrictions for Muggle relations. Perhaps prevent what happened to your sister from happening to other young witches. Protect future generations of wizards from the depravity of savage Muggles. Rescue our society from Mudbloods by rescuing Mudbloods from their supposed families.”

Headmaster Black meant to make him a bloody mascot. And to publicly blame his mother and her family for what happened to Ariana.  
Not that the Headmaster didn’t have a point. Ariana would not be in St. Mungo’s now if those Muggle boys had not seen her. But how could his mother have anticipated that? She grew up in that same village without incident. And he had a muggleborn roommate in Gryffindor tower – he grew up just fine in Muggle Belfast.  
No, he didn’t think much of this ‘opportunity.’ And yet it seemed he was at the Headmaster’s mercy. How could he get out of it? Or at least out of this room, for a start?  
What would Albus do?

“Thank you. I will consider it, Headmaster. Now, if you would please excuse me? It has been a trying month. I am – not quite as well prepared for my classes as I had hoped. I have some summer assignments to complete before classes begin week after next.”  
The Headmaster made a dismissive gesture. “Yes, yes. That’s fine. We can continue this conversation later. That will be all, Mr. Dumbledore.”  
Aberforth did not scramble down the stairs, nor did he stomp. He did not punch the smug looking gargoyle. He did not make a rude gesture at a nosy portrait. But upon arriving at his room, he may have drawn the curtains, thrown up a silencing charm, and torn apart a pillow. 

********

Pop!  
The sound startled Aberforth. He had been scratching out a letter to Albus, but now he was scrambling for his wand.  
“I believe it is under that roll of parchment.”  
Aberforth knew that voice. There he was – the Headmaster’s Sorting Hat – on the foot of Aberforth’s bed.  
“I didn’t know you can apparate!”  
“I can’t,” said the Hat. “But I am friends with the elves, so...”  
Aberforth sighed. He capped his ink and set aside his quill.  
“You missed a few feathers,” said the Hat. "But I imagine few will notice. Or notice that you are short a pillow.”  
Aberforth opened his bed curtains and found a feather on the floor beside the bed, as well as a couple hiding in the folds of a blanket. He vanished them and turned back to the Hat. 

“What do you want?”  
“Hmm. What do _you_ want? I see you are writing a letter. To your brother?”  
Aberforth said nothing.  
“About your meeting just now with the Headmaster?”  
“He’s disgusting!”  
“Your brother? Or the Headmaster?”  
Aberforth paused. He shouldn’t have said that. The Hat might tell the Headmaster!  
“I won’t. Tell the Headmaster, that is.”  
“How do you do that?! You aren’t even on my head right now!”  
“Your panic was not difficult to read.”

“I tell you what I want. I want my mother to be alive, and my sister to be ok, and my brother to not be a complete idiot!”  
“But. Since you can’t have any of those things, what do you want?”  
“I want the Headmaster to leave me alone, but I don’t think I can have that, either.”  
“Hmm. I bet we can work something out.”  
“Why would you do that? Aren’t you the Headmaster’s Hat?”  
“Not at all. I serve the students of Hogwarts. And that means you. May I sit on your head?”  
“No!” But then, Aberforth couldn’t help being curious, “Why?”  
“Maybe we can sort this out together more quickly, more easily together than separately. I too think the Headmaster’s suggestions today were – disgusting. And it is not the first time I’ve seen him behave that way. I have no interest in giving him more power over you – nor over anyone else.”  
“No thanks. Why don’t you tell me what you know, and we can talk this out like regular people. No mind reading.”

“I am not regular people, but as you wish. The Headmaster has an agenda –“  
“Well that much is obvious!” Aberforth scoffed.  
“If you want me to ‘tell you what I know,’ then I would thank you not to interrupt me.”  
Was it possible to offend a hat? “I apologize. Go ahead.”  
“He has certain classes that he wants you to take. He can’t force you to do so, but as your guardian, he can make your life difficult. You will not be able to leave Hogwarts until you are of age. And before you ask – I have never heard of any child other than a Pureblood being granted emancipation. Even then, it is mostly reserved for Lords. So. Running away to America is out, antagonizing the Headmaster is out, emancipation is out. Which seems to leave you with very few options.”

“No! Albus is my guardian! He is of age. He would never –“  
“He would not have been allowed to leave behind a ward indefinitely without appointing a provisional guardian in his place. Headmaster Black assured him that he would look after your interests while Albus was away. Albus then said, ‘Even if I never come back?’ To which the Headmaster replied, ‘Certainly. I will take good care of your younger brother. As well as your sister, if you wish.’ Then your brother indicated that he had made other arrangements for your sister.”  
Aberforth choked. “He plans never to come back?”  
“I don’t think he knows what he will do. But I was there for the meeting, and he seemed – resolved. A bit conflicted, but resolved.”  
“Grindelwald.” It sounded more like a growl than a word.  
“I don’t know this Grindelwald, but I will take your word for it.”  
“He – so – I –“ Aberforth tried to breathe. Albus had given him away. His own brother had given him away. He should have known, when Albus put Ariana in St. Mungo’s and sold the house.

“What are my options?”  
“I believe you can compromise with the Headmaster. You know that you do not want to enter politics, yes?”  
“Right.”  
“The Headmaster does not need to know this. You can appear to be going along with his plans _in part_ , while forming plans on your own. Which is why I asked you what you want. You have to decide who you are, and who you want to be. You need to come up with a plan for your life.”  
“I had a plan. I was planning to tend the goats and the garden, keep house, help mother care for Ariana. But none of that is possible anymore.”  
“Clearly you need a new plan. Right away, if we hope for you to take back a bit of control over your life. If you put me on your head, I can help you see what is already there – what you might want to do, and how to prepare for it.”

Aberforth held firm. “I don’t need you to look in my brain to know what I want. I want – a farm, and a market, or a grocery delivery service maybe.”  
“Headmaster Black will never allow it. Try again.”  
“Umm. Potions? Potions is like cooking. Sort of. And maybe I could come up with something that could help Ariana.”

“Excellent! Most of the professors at Hogwarts are halfbloods – Black will see that as appropriate to ‘your station.’ And you can narrate it as having something to do with honoring Ariana, which will make him think that you might still be manipulated into being a symbol of sorts – the noble wizard trying to undo the damage done to a powerful witch – his sister – damage done by Muggles.”  
“But that’s not...”  
“No, but he doesn’t need to know, does he? Not until you are of age. Because this narrative requires you to be accepted for a potions mastery. And that will not happen until after you are of age. At which point, his power over you is broken.  
“And as a would be potions master, you will need to take at least Herbology. You could probably make a case for Care of Magical Creatures as well, but in any case, Arithmancy will be essential to assist you in creating new potions. If you tell the Headmaster you are preparing for a Potions Mastery, you can talk him out of History, but in order to appease him it would be best to agree to taking Runes. And by getting Outstanding marks on your OWLS, particularly your Potions exam.”  
“That’s seven OWLS! Eight if I take Magical Creatures! Albus is the smart one. I don’t know if I can...”  
“Rubbish! There is room for more than one intelligent wizard in a family! Oh, and it would help to keep the peace if you agree to his ‘political seminar.’ You won’t have to go to the Wizengamot too often. Phineas is not the Head of the Black family, nor even the Heir. His brother Sirius is the heir. Phineas likes to think that he is important, but he only attends the Wizengamot when the session is bound to be so boring that neither his father nor his brother can be bothered to go.”

Aberforth watched the floating dust motes, sparkling in a beam of sunlight. He wished he were a dust mote – floating lazily, sparkling, unaware.  
“That works. I can do that. I – you really think I could be a Potions Master?”  
“I do. You are meticulous, driven, focused. You will need to practice outside of class, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Aberforth began fidgeting with his quill.  
“Aberforth. I would advise against telling Albus about your conversation with the Headmaster.”  
“But - !”  
“The Headmaster is hoping that Albus will hear about this, and have his interest piqued. He wants Albus to fall into his net. I fear that rather than doing so, Albus will ensnare the Headmaster in his own net. Either way, their combined power and cunning is something that we should all hope to avoid. Let the Headmaster think you will be his pawn, and Albus will be spared.”  
“Fine.” Aberforth was going to have to get used to life without Albus, it seemed. 

“You’ll tell me if there’s anything else that happens in the Headmaster’s office that I should know about?”  
“Of course.  
“Thanks, Hat.”  
“We are going to be working together Aberforth. Please call me Aethelfrith.”  
“Aethelfrith.”

The Hat – _Aethelfrith_ – disappeared with a pop. Aberforth flopped back on his remaining pillow and stared at the canopy over his bed. Plotting did not come easily to him. Perhaps this was part of growing up. If so, he wasn’t particularly excited for adulthood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems to me to be unlikely that Dumbledore is the only Headmaster to have understood Hogwarts' potential as a recruiting pool.


	3. 1901: Minerva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva was famously a Hat-Stall. Why was that, exactly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are here for Dumbledore/Grindelwald – that relationship gets a mention - and sometimes even plays a part - in about half of the following chapters. But a lot will be missed, because, in this fic, I am only writing chapters where the Sorting Hat is present – Aethelfrith (the Hat) is the main character.
> 
> However! Because I got caught up in the Dumbledore family drama and developed an extraordinary amount of Albus/Gellert backstory that can't fit here – I started writing an Albus POV fic (The Greater Good) that _originally_ was meant to be part of this universe, but now is _inspired by_ this universe (an AU to this AU, LOL). Greater Good is 100% compliant with the first 3 chapters of this fic, but then will diverge a good bit. Still, it will draw on a number of details from this fic.  
> So there will be a lot more Albus/Gellert to be had there, featuring the Albus and the Aberforth that we are getting to know in Aethelfrith the Wise [Part One.]

Chapter 3  
Minerva McGonagall  
September 1901

After the first three students were Sorted, it was obvious how it worked. The Hat had to make the decision somehow. Hat -> Head -> Brain -> Thoughts = Mind-reading hat. The fourth child was sorted almost instantly – the Hat touched her head and within seconds shouted, “Hufflepuff!” How did that work? That wasn’t long enough for the Hat to properly sift through all the information in a person’s head. It must be enough to ask! The girl must have pushed everything to the back of her mind – everything but “Hufflepuff.”

It was not much longer before her name was called.  
Madame Black waited for Minerva to sit on the stool, back straight and ankles neatly crossed, before setting the hat on her head.  
“Gryffindor Gryffindor Gryffindor Gryffindor.”  
Why was the Hat not shouting out ‘Gryffindor’ yet?  
“Well, dear, because I don’t yet know anything about you other than that you want to be in Gryffindor.”

In later years, she would be hard to startle, but that kind of unflappability is earned. Eleven (almost twelve!) year old Minerva had not been expecting a voice in her head, and she jumped, just a tiny jump – imperceptible to all but Madame Black and the hat.  
She gathered her wits quickly, and contradicted the Hat. “But you let that other girl...”  
“Astrid? She didn’t pick her house, either. It just didn’t take more than one memory for me to see where she belonged. You, however, present more of a difficulty.”  
Minerva frowned. “That’s what my mother says, too. She says I’m difficult.”

“Hmm. Yes, if you had not been magical, she could have continued to hide from your father. But that is not your fault. That was a choice she made. She could have told him years before you were born.”  
“But the Statute!”  
“He’s _still_ a Muggle, is he not? And he knows of the magical world now, and the Ministry has not obliviated him. There are allowances made for wizards and witches who are preparing to marry Muggles. No, my dear. _You_ are not difficult. But your Sorting, that is what is difficult. Because you seem to be trying to be someone else. Yes! Someone your mother can be proud of? She was a Gryffindor?”

“She is a witch, and I am a witch, and we are alike that way – she says that I am not like her, but I am.”  
“Hmm. She says you are like your father. You like being like your father, too, don’t you? His head is all full of Jesus, like yours.”  
“He’s a minister...”  
“That is not reason enough for a head full of Jesus, dear. Not all minister’s daughters are so – engaged – interested – overflowing with wonder and questions and answers that lead to more questions.

“Oh! You are wondering if you can be a Christian here. You want to be like your mother here, because maybe it is not safe to be like your father. To follow a Muggle religion.”  
Minerva tried not to squirm. How long had she been up here? The stool was becoming uncomfortable.  
“Are you sure that is what is making you uncomfortable, dear?”

Minerva ignored the Hat. “Mother told me I would need to be careful – that most wizards –“  
“Serve the old gods? Some do, yes. But you need not worship the old gods in order to honor – even follow – the old ways. Learn to respect the traditions of those around you, and find a way to make sense of them, to integrate them into your own faith and practice. Few will care what god you serve, but many will care if you forsake the traditions.”  
“Have there been other Christians, then? Here at Hogwarts?”  
“Of course, dear. So many Muggleborns come through here, after all. Some of them are bound to be churchgoers.”

Could she trust the Hat? Minerva wasn’t sure. “But – won’t I be alone? Are there other Christians in my year? Will I be able to practice after I graduate? Surely...”  
“Well, it is more difficult, what with the Statute of Secrecy. It remains the case that there are too few Christians in wizarding villages to populate a church. And there are perhaps no wizarding priests – though I do know a wizarding monastery in Greece, and a convent of witches in Ireland. But that, ah yes, would not interest a – Presbyterian? No monastic communities? That’s fine. We can discuss that later.”  
“But - !”  
“It’s delightful talking to you dear, but we do not need to plan your _entire_ future in order to get you Sorted.”  
“But I thought – mother said that my entire future was laid out when I was Sorted. That it’s like – getting on a steamer. Once you are on, you can’t get off.”  
“A steamer? Oh – a ship! I do like this metaphor! With a boat, you do land somewhere eventually, and once you disembark, you may go wherever you please from there. Your ship is important to the comfort of this leg of your journey, but it does not necessarily determine your fortunes ever afterwards. So yes, being sorted is indeed like getting on a steamer.”

Minerva tried again. “Father says that some choices mark you – you can’t unchoose them afterwards, because the consequences are permanent.”  
“Oh yes. And _that_ is why I will not be letting you choose.”  
Minerva did not like the way this was going. 

“I know dear. You are indeed very bright, and very mature for your age. But I am nearly 900 years older than you, so I have a bit more experience with fitting witches to houses! And I have seen in your classmates’ heads, which _you_ are not able to do.”  
“You are not going to let me be in Gryffindor.”  
“I still haven’t decided.”

Infuriating Hat! Minerva was on the verge of losing her temper. But that would not do. Not in front of so many people. “What even is the _point_ of these ‘Houses’? Why can’t you just put me into Gryffindor and be done with it? Surely it isn’t so complicated?”  
“You need a family while you are away from home. A House is a place to live, dear, and people to live with – I want you to have the very people you need in your living room, your dorm room, your classrooms, and at your dining table. The people who will help you grow in the best way.  
“Oh – yes – you hadn’t realized that your housemates would be joining you in all of your classes? Indeed. It is frustrating for you when people aren’t serious about their studies, isn’t it. Quite annoying when you have to wait for everyone else to catch up.”  
Minerva huffed. “At least I am not rude about it. I know not to say anything.”  
“Unlike the people who say rude things about your questions. Oh! Some of your father’s – parishioners? – I’m learning so many new words from you – how delightful! His _parishioners_ don’t feel comfortable with your questions. But your father welcomes your questions, I see. He likes a challenge, perhaps? Or identifies with you? Has many questions of his own? Hard to tell. I’m on your head – not his.  
All of which brings us back to your Jesus!”

Minerva was troubled by the Hat’s insistence on talking about Jesus. Maybe he was not going to sort her until she talked about it.  
“There are so many questions I would never ask in front of Muggles...”  
“ – except for your Father –“  
“Naturally. And I can’t find help in any Muggle book, and I can’t find magical books about the Bible…”  
“And you wonder how the miracles of Jesus are any different from your magic? Whether Jesus was just another wizard?  
“What does your Father say? Does he think that Jesus was a wizard?”  
“He says no, but –“  
“But he hasn’t given you a satisfying answer? A complete answer? Well, it would be hard for him to do, since he isn’t a wizard himself and doesn’t know the limits of magic. This might have been a better question for your mother, actually.”  
“But she’s not here, so maybe you can -?”  
“Oh, why not? We’ve only been here eight minutes by now, and there are only twelve more students waiting to be Sorted before everyone can start eating.”  
This sarcasm was utterly wasted on Minerva. “Thank you!”  
If the Hat had a head, he would have shaken it in fond disbelief. 

“Well, let’s see. What do you know about Jesus? Quite a lot I see! Yes, wonderful. I’ve not sat on a head so full of Jesus in many years.”  
“You said there have been other Christians at Hogwarts.” Minerva was beginning to doubt the Hat.  
“There are Christians and then there are theologians. You, dear, are a theologian. A Christian scholar. Not all Christians are so – heady about it.”  
“Oh.”  
“Now, back to Jesus. It is true that some powerful wizards can walk on water, or calm storms. But you will soon learn that it is impossible for a wizard to create or multiply food, as your Jesus is said to have done. Nor can a wizard, no matter how powerful, be confirmed dead, and then be reanimated after more than half an hour or so, and your Jesus is meant to have been dead for more than a day. So. If what your Bible says about him is true, this Jesus was more than a wizard.”

This Hat was a very interesting fellow. Minerva wondered if she would get a chance to talk to him again. Could she do an independent study with the Hat, maybe? What was the place of magical artifacts in creation – did the Hat have a soul? Could a charmed inanimate object _believe_ in things - even believe in God? Did Jesus die for Hats also? Was it blasphemous to ask that kind of question?  
Minerva was so caught up in wondering that she forgot about the stool and the Houses and the students in the Great Hall. She forgot about Madame Black, subtly shifting her weight as she waited in simulated patience. She had even forgotten the Hat. And so it was, that when he interrupted her train of thought, she once again jumped, a bit more noticeably this time.  
“And still you have questions! Wonderful!”  
“Wonderful?”  
“Yes indeed. It has been clear to me for several minutes now, but hopefully exposing your endless curiosity in this way will reconcile you to the fact that you are most well suited for –  
“RAVENCLAW!”

Most of the Ravenclaw students clapped, but a few were so consumed in their books that they did not so much as twitch when the Hat bellowed out their House’s name.  
Minerva wasn’t offended in the least – she could only wonder what they were reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, my original outline didn’t have McGonagall in it at all. I guess I was too focused on my Aberforth/Galatea and Riddle thread? But at my daughter’s request, I made amends and wrote about one of her favorite characters.
> 
> The Harry Potter Wiki used to say that McGonagall was born in 1935. And Crimes of Grindelwald has her teaching Leta Lestrange – which, if MM was born in 1935, would mean she was teaching before she was born. Which leaves us with Time Travel (and I just can’t even), or a different timeline for McGonagall.
> 
> Hypable makes a good case for McGonagall being born in 1889 – and for a 1935 birth not fitting into canon even before the Fantastic Beasts movies, so I’m going with that. But I do understand that the subject of McGonagall’s age is controversial.  
> https://www.hypable.com/when-was-mcgonagall-born-age/
> 
> You are totally entitled to your opinion. In any case, this is an AU – I figure all FanFiction starts with one or more “What if…?” questions. So – what if McGonagall was born in 1889?


	4. 1908: Ursula, Leta, and Malcolm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorting is going to be... eventful this year. Good thing Aethelfrith has a friend in the Headmaster's wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, the world of Harry Potter is the creation of JKR - I am merely privileged to play here.

Chapter 4: Ursula Black, Leta Lestrange, and Malcom McGonagall  
September 1908

If Headmaster Black could have avoided ever wearing Aethelfrith, he certainly would have done so. His wife, on the other hand, found the Hat to be a dear friend. Every year on the afternoon of the Welcoming Feast, she would retrieve Aethelfrith from her husband’s office and wear him from just after lunch until the last possible moment before the children filed in to the Hall. 

“I am concerned about the Lestrange girl” Aethelfrith said, as they were making their way from the Black family quarters.  
“More than any other child this year?” Madame Black teased.  
“Ursula!” The Hat laughed. “You always were a cheeky child. You know that that is not true. I am concerned for all of the children. I am – perhaps it is better to say I am _worried_ about the Lestrange girl. When the Headmaster –“  
“When Phineas –“  
“When your _ass of a husband_ –“  
“Would you like for me to take you off of my head, Aethelfrith? You don’t have to call him Phineas, but I will thank you not to call him an ass.”

“As you wish, Ursula. My apologies. When... Headmaster Black read through this year’s roster, I became convinced that this would be an unusually difficult and interesting Sorting. Minerva’s younger brother is going to be here, and she has a fascinating family. Theseus’ younger brother will be here – and Theseus was one of the most difficult children to sort in a generation. We are going to have a Shacklebolt for the first time in 30 years. The number of new Muggleborn students is the highest that it has ever been. And Black made special mention of the Lestrange girl. Said that he hoped that I would put her in a position to make a 'profitable alliance' for her father. I had the impression that her family didn’t care for her much, besides what they could get out of marrying her off.”  
“Well, no – Corvus was never –“  
“Sweet Merlin – she’s Corvus’ daughter? I see. Yes, well, that does help. Thank you, Ursula.”  
“My pleasure, Aethelfrith. Always.”

They walked in silence for a moment. After more than 15 years of close companionship, Aethelfrith had learned that it was best to give Ursula the illusion of privacy – to not respond to her every fleeting thought unless an invitation was made clear – usually indicated by her bringing her attention back to the fact that she was not alone.  
“Aethelfrith?”  
Aethelfrith replied to her most pressing question. “No, Ursula, I never choose the children’s houses in advance. No, not even based on what might seem like clear information from yourself or your – Headmaster. No, that's not entirely correct. I knew how I would sort each of your children – but they had been wearing me for years before their sorting.”

Aethelfrith continued, “A child’s idea of herself can be telling. Especially in the context of others’ ideas of her. If only I could take into account every child’s idea of themselves, and of each other, before placing any child.”  
“Aethelfrith –“  
Ursula was not sure that this was the best time for Aethelfrith to be reliving his greatest public humiliation – which was where this monologue invariably ended. But the Hat was not to be stopped, even by his closest friend. He was warming up to his favorite subject.  
“For 150 years, I have suggested that I speak with each child before sorting any of them. Perhaps return to a few after giving each child their first read. Then I could –“  
“Aethelfrith, Phineas will never allow –“  
“But I never pressed the matter. Not until –“  
“That disastrous sorting of Cordelia Abbott,” Ursula said in unison with Aethelfrith, rolling her eyes.

In his enthusiasm, the Hat did not notice that his friend did not see this story in the same way that he did.  
“If only I had seen the events on the train that she couldn’t have shown me – the way those other girls had spoken about her in the privacy of their compartments. I knew by the time we reached Artemis Nelson that Cordelia should have been placed in Slytherin, not Gryffindor. She spent the rest of her time here –“  
“Bullied and ostracized, I know, Aethelfrith. But _you can’t have your way in this_. Headmaster Limebert refused you, and you know that Phineas has promised to do the same.”

For all the stars, why had she brought up Limebert?  
The year after the ‘disastrous sorting of Cordelia Abbott,’ Aethelfrith had decided to take a stand. He refused to sort young Gregorius Bardwell – instead of calling out a house assignment, he had simply called out, “Thank you, Mr. Bardwell. Next!” Headmaster Limebert had then told Mr. Bardwell to “keep that infernal hat on your head as long as it takes.” And Aethelfrith had replied, “I will not be sorting any of the children until I have spoken to them all.”  
The children had waited for more than an hour before Headmaster Limebert dismissively said, “Bardwell? Gryffindor.” It didn’t work – Bardwell’s robes did not change to Gryffindor robes – only the Hat, it seemed, had the authority to sort. So poor Bardwell was stuck on the stool for another hour while the rest of the First Years shifted their weight uneasily. Finally, Headmaster Limebert declared that all of the First Years would be in “First Year House” until further notice, and he did not allow Aethelfrith to sit on any more heads that evening.  
All of which led to a massive conflict between the house elves loyal to the Headmaster and the house elves loyal to Aethelfrith. It was not until Spring Break that Aethelfrith gave in, realizing that he needed the buy-in of the Headmaster if his sorting plan were ever to work.

“The Sorting Standoff of 1828,” Aethelfrith muttered. “A humiliation. To be treated that way, to be disregarded!“  
It did not appear to occur to Aethelfrith that the experience had been deeply humiliating for the Headmaster as well. Not to mention young Mr. Bardwell.

“There is nothing for it, Aethelfrith,” Ursula said, not unsympathetically. “You will simply have to sort Leta before sorting McGonagall and Scamander and a dozen other students. But now with Cygnus having graduated, I have no one to mother but the students. If after sorting her you still feel that she needs special attention, come to me. I will do what I can. I will not allow for Leta Lestrange to become another Cordelia Abbott.”

*******************

It was supposed to be a carefully guarded secret, but Leta’s specialty was discovering secrets. Discovering secrets and keeping them. And so it was that she was the only child waiting to be sorted who knew that the Sorting Hat could read minds. 

She had read about occlumency. All she had to do was to organize her thoughts and conceal them in packages or in nested boxes, or in her case a garden. All she had to do was walk only in the parts of the garden that she would allow a legilimens to see. For truly talented legilimens, she built a maze behind a copse of trees, and within the hedges of the maze she hid secrets that were not really secrets – memories sufficiently embarrassing that they would tempt the reader to believe that they had found what was most precious, most valuable. But the ship, the storm, the baby – these were beneath ordinary rocks edging the potions garden.

Of course, any legilimens looking into the mind of an 11 year old and finding such organization would know right away that she would not have bothered unless she had something of real consequence to hide. But Leta did not know that. She did not know that her very defenses invited attack. And she did not know that such thorough measures had not been necessary to prepare for her sorting. The Sorting Hat could not dig, but only read the wearer’s surface thoughts. And if she had allowed him to read her, she might have been better off. There was nothing in her head that he would have been obliged to share. A confessor might have been exactly what Leta needed most.

And perhaps, if she had allowed her guilt and shame and resentment to the surface, she would have been sorted differently. But there was only one house for a child who would go to such lengths to keep her secrets, who felt such a need to protect herself and had the will and the ability to do so.

Aethelfrith sat on Leta’s head for but a moment. He saw how little there was to see there – no memories, no emotions but a flash of pride at the emptiness she presented. There was little point in speaking to her, except to help her feel less alone – to let her know that he found her worth speaking to. So though he doubted she would thank him for it, he spoke to her tenderly, “Leta, I do hope that you will find a kindred spirit in –“  
“SLYTHERIN!!!” 

Aethelfrith watched Leta walk to the Slytherin table. She hesitated just a moment, scanning each person at the table… she looked like she recognized a few individuals, but she didn’t move to sit with them.

While his eyes were on Leta, he heard Ursula call out the next name.  
“Malcolm McGonagall!”  
He had a moment before speaking to Malcolm to look once more at Leta. She was sitting alone. Not easily done at such a full table. It was as if she had a Slytherin-repelling charm on her person. There were only 6 seats left, and two were next to her and two across. He wondered how many more Slytherins he would be sorting that evening, and whether any of them would sit next to Leta.  
But there was a task at hand. Malcolm.  
“Your mother was in Gryffindor, your sister was in Ravenclaw… I wonder where you think you belong, young Mr. McGonagall?”  
Malcolm didn’t have the first idea. Minerva had told him nothing about the House system. Interesting.  
“Minerva said that what I wanted didn’t matter.”

“Oh, that is not true at all – what you want matters a great deal. It tells me so much about you. What I won’t do is place you in the house you want _only because you say so_. That is very different from your wishes not mattering.”  
“If you say so.”  
Hmm… He had not yet developed an appreciation for subtle arguments – Ravenclaw and Slytherin were out, then. Malcolm would not be as obvious as Leta, but it was promising that he was already down to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. There were some who would fit well in both (Aethelfrith thought again of Theseus Scamander), but very few. Aethelfrith would be done with Malcolm shortly. 

Or… not…  
This could be quite convenient. Malcolm’s easy sorting could buy him some more time to observe Leta.  
“But let us not talk about your sister. You are your own person, correct?”  
Ah yes, that got a reaction. Pride. Hmm.  
“Tell me about the first time you remember using magic, Mr. McGonagall.”

Aethelfrith told himself that he was perfectly capable of listening to Malcolm and watching Leta at the same time, but his attention was quickly overtaken by the slight girl with the too-grown-up smirk and perfect posture.  
He had placed her in Slytherin not least because it seemed that Slytherin students would be accustomed to people like Leta. Many Slytherins grew up among people who traded in favors and lies; Leta’s proficiency in collecting secrets while sharing none of her own could be dangerous to students less savvy than Slytherins tended to be. But in protecting her housemates, had he put Leta herself in danger? In which house would Leta have been in the least danger?  
Aethelfrith could not afford to second guess himself now. There were 18 more students to sort, including Malcolm.

Malcolm!  
“…And he didn’t even notice until we got home that I had made the clock chime more than twenty minutes early! He wrapped up that service so fast! He had only been preaching for 10 minutes! But Dad finds these sorts of things amusing, so I didn’t get punished at all. I mean, it could have been Robert too, sure, but he knew it was me. Robert’s magic is more like levitating the pie down from on top of the cabinet. That sort of thing.”  
“Well! Mr. McGonagall! You are a bold one - and gregarious and mischievous, too. I can think of a number of people who would love to make your acquaintance in…  
“GRYFFINDOR!”

The Gryffindor table erupted into a cacophony – all of the boys and a number of the girls banging their silverware on the table as they did with each new student sorted into their house. Yes, Malcolm would fit in just fine there.

Aethelfrith noticed that Leta’s eyes followed Malcolm, though she did a good job of hiding it, not moving her head at all. He wondered about that. He thought back to what he had seen in her mind. It must be very lonely, having that much to hide, feeling so untrusting. He could see how open people – seemingly easy people – would fascinate Leta. And yet – would she scare someone like Malcolm away? By accident, or on purpose?

Anyone with that much to hide already, with enough fear to construct those sorts of walls – she would be in danger everywhere. Not least because of her confidence in her walls: she likely thought that by hiding, she could keep her inner self safe anywhere.  
He sighed. Slytherin would be as good a place as any. But Aethelfrith now knew for certain that he would be taking Ursula up on her offer to keep an eye on young Leta Lestrange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine that Corvus is still a dick in this universe - and that there was little Aethelfrith could have done to avoid it. I like to suppose that Corvus was home-schooled through his OWLS, and only sent to Hogwarts for his last two years, in preparation for his NEWTS.


	5. 1912: Sirius, Robert, and Minerva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The threads start to come together - Minerva interviews for the position of Transfiguration professor, the Headmaster schemes, Albus Dumbeldore returns, and Aethelfrith does his best to sort it all out.

Chapter 5  
Sirius Black, Minerva McGonagall, Robert McGonagall  
June 1912

Every summer, the Board of Governors met to review the past year and to weigh in on the Headmaster’s plans for the coming year. If past years’ meetings were any indication, Black would be gone for hours. Which gave Aethelfrith the freedom he had needed to go see Ursula. He couldn’t do very much on his own – he needed to enlist a sympathetic witch if he were going to curb the Headmaster.

But Aethelfrith had not remembered that Ursula was unlikely to be alone in the summertime. He had expected to land in his usual chair in the parlour, but instead he found himself on the breakfast table. Sirius looked up from his paper. My how the boy had grown! But then again, he was, what? 35? Yes, 35 now. 

“Ah – Sirius! Welcome home! I didn’t know you were here!”  
“Yes, well, Heloise is nearly ready to deliver, and I may have said something unflattering about her temper…”  
“Say no more. Your father spent many a night in his office, when your mother was with child.”  
Sirius laughed, “I imagine so. He is not the most tactful….” He trailed off, then cleared his throat. “Well. I mustn’t speak ill of Father. Not least as it would seem I’m no better.”  
“We shall see, young man. This is your first, yes? You may be teachable yet!”

Aethelfrith was so unsettled by seeing someone other than Ursula in the family apartment that he neglected to offer congratulations to Sirius, which he certainly ought to have done. Aethelfrith was not one for idly observing social niceties, but he was aware of the trouble Sirius and Heloise had – aware that, after six years, this child was desperately wanted but unlooked for.

He and Ursula had spoken about Sirius many times. She had supported him when he declined the marriage that his father had arranged for him, grieved for him when the girl he loved married another, celebrated when he had met Heloise, and been irrepressible when describing their wedding. (She had told him of the latter on a Welcoming Feast day. It was fortunate that Aethelfrith needed little help from her thinking through the Sorting, because she would have not been capable of giving him any.) Lately, she had spoken of how, when Phineas’ older brother had died, his father had skipped over Phineas and named Sirius his heir. Ursula thought he had made a wise choice, but she was spending a great deal of time soothing Phineas’ hurt feelings.  
Aethelfrith supposed that Sirius would be mortified to know how much Aethelfrith knew of his personal life. But it seems just as likely that he would have been unsurprised. The Black children were all aware that their mother was the Hat’s confidant, and that he was hers.

And that might have been why Sirius knowingly said to the Hat, “As lovely as your consolations are, Mr. The Wise, I imagine that you are not here for me, but for my mother.”  
It was another sign of his distraction that Aethelfrith did not laugh at the appellation “Mr. The Wise,” which Sirius had given the Hat when his father had heard him call Aethelfrith by name. Phineas had complained that Sirius ought not be so familiar with the venerable Hat, and Sirius, knowing that Aethelfrith had no last name, gave him one. Five year old Sirius had been a sassy little thing. 

“Mother is with Belvina all week. Something about planning a garden party. Though I imagine that mother is really there in hopes of persuading her to come back home and take up the Defence against the Dark Arts position. Or, more to the point, to persuade Belvina’s husband. Herbert. Who names their child Bert Burke?! I’ll tell you who – people who raise a child absurd enough to suit his absurd name.”  
Herbert was not well liked by any of the Blacks save Belvina and her father. 

“Well, then. Thank you very much Sirius. It has been good to see you. I suppose I will –“  
“Come, Aethelfrith. I know that you are here on a matter of some importance. I also know that you are not wanting my father to know about it – else you would not have timed your visit so – auspiciously.”  
Aethelfrith was taken aback. When had Sirius become so like his mother?  
“I imagine, Mr. The Wise, that you could use more than one Black in your corner.”  
Aethelfrith laughed. “It sounds to me, Sirius, that I am not the only one in this room that might be called Mr. The Wise!”  
Sirius was delighted to have Aethelfrith back in good humour. He lifted the Hat onto his head, and as Aethelfrith unfolded his concerns, Sirius began to pace the room, thinking fast. The morning passed quickly. 

*****************

Over the past several years, Aethelfrith had seen a great deal of the outside world through the thoughts and memories of the children he sorted. He knew that conditions had become increasingly difficult for wizards and witches who chose to live with or near Muggles. Several of the children had some reference to ‘the Dumbledore girl’ at the forefront of their consciousness, making it was clear that she had become an icon of some sort. Aethelfrith couldn’t pinpoint how long Headmaster Black had been plotting this societal shift – he only knew when it was that Aberforth’s younger sister had become part of the strategy.

Black was many things, but he was not stupid. After speaking with Sirius, Aethelfrith had realized that he had underestimated just how much the Headmaster had been hiding from him. How long had Black been carefully curating his conversations? Editing a narrative for Aethelfrith to consume?

And how insecure did a man have to be to worry about the opinion of a Hat?  
No. It was dangerous to minimize the Headmaster’s behaviour in that way – to hide behind ridicule. The chief reason was likely that Black didn’t trust Aethelfrith to keep his secrets – that he was aware that Aethelfrith was not loyal to him, but was something of a free agent. 

Aethelfrith wasn’t sorry for the times that he had openly moved against the Headmaster – he had saved many a child from the Headmaster’s schemes. But in retrospect, some of his manoeuvres had tipped his hand, which meant that Black might even, at times, have managed to manipulate Aethelfrith into playing the part of a cog in his political machine.

All those years ago, he had assured Aberforth that Black imagined himself to be more powerful than he really was – but Aethelfrith had mistaken the lack of a seat on the Wizengamot for not having a voice. 

Sirius had given the Hat plenty to think about. Aethelfrith had come anticipating only discussing Headmaster Black’s refusal to hire Minerva McGonagall as the Professor of Transfiguration. She was imminently qualified, and a delightful girl. And she would have made an admirable Head of Ravenclaw House as well. Aethelfrith was troubled that Headmaster Black had declined to hire her solely on the basis of her living in the muggle village in which she had been raised. He was even more troubled that he had said that he would give a different reason to the Board – namely that both of her siblings would be at Hogwarts that year, and he didn’t want to risk accusations of favouritism. 

While Aethelfrith had been disappointed to miss Ursula, it was fortunate that Sirius was the one he had spoken to. Due to his status as Heir Black, Sirius knew many things that others in his family did not. He had shown Aethelfrith what his father’s rejection of Minerva truly signified – the Headmaster’s anxiety over a plan, decades in the making, that was seemingly crumbling overnight.

Apparently, Ariana Dumbledore had died just two years before. Initially, the Headmaster had used the coverage of her death in the Daily Prophet as a way to reignite waning interest in the Dumbledore case. Once again, she was spoken about in homes across England, and in the Wizengamot as well. The Headmaster had been working towards a law to remove young Muggleborns from their homes and place them with Wizarding families, and that goal seemed finally within his grasp. 

But before the proposal could be voted on, Sirius revealed, Albus Dumbledore had returned. Aethelfrith didn’t know what to make of this. Albus had left more than a decade before. He wondered if he had been in touch with his brother in all that time. Aethelfrith had always had a soft spot for the younger Dumbledore boy. He knew he must have been crushed when his sister died. Would he have reconciled with his brother?  
He must have done to some extent, because he turned over the Dumbledore seat on the Wizengamot to Albus. Then again, perhaps Aberforth had seen that as a punishment. He had never been interested in politics. Albus, by contrast, had been articulate and persuasive since childhood. Sirius had indicated that this was still the case, and he now also had the exotic distinction of having appeared seemingly from nowhere. 

The Dumbledore seat only existed because the Headmaster himself had lobbied for it, intending it to be a constant reminder of the cost of wizards living with muggles. This was now backfiring, as Albus could not have been more opposed to the Headmaster’s plan. The Headmaster had already made ‘The Dumbledore Girl’ into a powerful and persuasive symbol. As the Head of the Dumbledore family, Albus Dumbledore had more right to that symbol than anyone else – and he had said that what would have been best for his sister was the opposite of what Phineas Nigellus Black (or rather, his proxies on the Wizengamot) had suggested.

Dumbledore claimed to have first-hand experience of the American system, which he said was very similar to what Black was proposing. He shared horrific stories of the unintended consequences of such a plan. Instead, he suggested that Britain should move in the opposite direction – that the Muggle families of Magical children should be fully integrated into the magical world. 

Sirius’ assessment was that his father was lashing out in the only way he could, in the only fiefdom he had: Hogwarts. He couldn’t impose his ideas on Wizarding Britain, so he would instead enact his proposals, inasmuch as he could, at the school. Professors would not be allowed to live among muggles, and students who lived with muggles would be closely monitored.

In Sirius’ opinion, it would be best to allow the Headmaster this safety valve, until such time as he retired.  
“Perhaps so,” Aethelfrith had said, “but in the meantime, a promising young witch is out of a job.”  
Sirius had promised ‘Mr. The Wise’ that he would see what he could do for Minerva McGonagall.

**************

Young Robert McGonagall was not so much nervous as exhausted. His brother had told him a great deal about Hogwarts, but he had neglected to mention how very long the train trip was. In any case, Robert had been wrung out before he even started. His mother had been hovering about him from the time he got up that morning until he had gotten on the train. She and his father had come to “see off my baby,” as his mother had said. His father had had to physically remove her from Robert so that he could get on the train before it left the station. It wasn’t as if she was childless now! Minerva had moved back home. But then, Minerva had always gotten along more with Father. Robert hoped that Minerva would give Mother some special attention tonight, since she was so – loony today.

Robert did not much care where he was sorted – he just wanted to get it over with, so that he could sit down, eat, and then find his bed and fall into it. He wondered if he had ever been so relieved in his life as he was when Madame Black called his name. At last, the end of the day was in sight.

“So, you don’t care where you go, young Mr. McGonagall?”  
“Oh, you can call me Robert. You are going to know enough about me in a minute to warrant the familiarity.”  
The Hat laughed. “Oh! I like you! You McGonagalls – not one of you is alike, but you are all delightful!”  
“Thank you?”  
“Yes, that was absolutely a compliment. You seem very relaxed, young man.”  
“Well, wherever you put me will be the best place. Or as good as anyone can guess at the moment. And you’re guaranteed to put me somewhere, so why worry about it?"  
“Well said. Tell me – how is your sister doing?”

“My sister? Is this helping you sort me?”  
“Not really, I already know that I’m sorting you into Hufflepuff.”  
“That’s what Malcolm thought you’d do. He tried to bet Minerva, but she said that she wouldn’t take the bet.”  
“Oh? And why did your siblings think you would be a Hufflepuff?”  
“Minerva wouldn’t say. But Malcolm said that Hufflepuffs are peacemakers, and that they like to have fun, but they work hard too – that usually they see their work as fun, actually. And that sounded about right to me.

“So why are you asking me about Minerva?”  
“Because we have a little time, and because I have been concerned about her ever since Headmaster Black rejected her application for the Transfiguration Master position.”  
“Oh, she’s fine. She has a job that she likes now. It might be a better fit for her right now anyway. Given how the Headmaster treated her, I don’t think she would have liked working here all that much.”  
“You do have a point. That sounds very practical. I imagine Minerva had a great deal more to say about it than that. I see that she’s working for Albus Dumbledore. More calculating than your sister, but every bit as inquisitive. They will be good for each other.”

“Yeah. A friend of his knew Minnie was looking for a job. And this friend thought that Mr. Dumbledore might need an assistant. And he did!”  
“Well that was very fortunate timing.”  
The way the Hat had said that sounded… a bit off to Robert.  
“Were _you_ the friend of Mr. Dumbledore’s?”  
“Oh, well spotted Robert! You are every bit as clever as your siblings. Never let anyone tell you otherwise, just because of where you are sorted. Some Hufflepuffs are awfully clever. It’s just – not your defining characteristic.  
“And yes, you are right – I have not yet answered your question. Let us just say that I was not directly responsible for bringing your sister to young Mr. Dumbledore’s attention.”  
“ _Young_ Mr. Dumbledore?”  
“When you are as old as I am, you have to be at least 150 in order for me to stop considering you young.”  
“Then I guess you should call me ‘young young man!’ When you’re not calling me Robert.”  
The Hat laughed again. “I know that you are tired tonight, young young man, but would it be alright if I were to visit you sometime? We can talk more about you, and not at all about your sister.”  
“I don’t mind talking about Minnie. We can talk about whatever you want, later. But right now, I’d really like to go to the table. I’m knackered.”  
“Very well. Thank you for the good news about your sister. I hope that you enjoy the next seven years in –“  
“HUFFLEPUFF!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So - I had originally intended to update this twice a week - which might still happen some weeks (it happened this week!) but may prove to be too ambitious to commit to.  
> My new plan is to try never to go more than 7 days before posting a new chapter.


	6. 1925: Aberforth and Galatea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Albus out of the picture for his last few years at school, and with the help of The Sorting Hat, Aberforth made better choices than he might have had Ariana been killed and Albus stayed.
> 
> After Headmaster Black retires, Aberforth interviews for the role of potions professor, and finds a kindred spirit in Galatea Merrythought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kriff, this was a difficult chapter to write! I think that I'm happy with it now, but I left nearly 2000 words on the cutting room floor. Such is writing, I guess!
> 
> Thank you, JKR, for giving us all such excellent characters to play with.

Chapter 6  
Aberforth Dumbledore and Galatea Merrythought  
July 1925

It was two weeks after the end of term, and Professor Merrythought was packing everything she would need for a two month stay at her cottage. She could not wait to get there. She missed Ebbie, her elf. She missed her favourite chair by the fireplace. She missed the big window over her desk which looked out over the garden. She missed the cheerful stream that ran through the woods just over the hill. 

She was puzzling over whether she really needed formal robes – or robes at all – when Aethelfrith popped onto her dresser.  
“Well, friend,” she said, “You are right on time. I was going to leave in ten minutes, but now I suppose I will be leaving in two hours.”  
Aethelfrith looked as uncomfortable as a hat can look. “I was hoping that you would be willing to stay through tomorrow.”

Aethelfrith had asked favours of Galatea before – arguably bigger favours than delaying her summer break by a single day – but having him make this request mere minutes before her escape seemed unbearable.  
“Through tomorrow! Now see here, Hat –“  
“Galatea, it is an emergency.”  
She sighed. “Fine, Aethelfrith. What is it?”  
“The Headmaster has found a new Potions Professor…”  
Galatea rolled her eyes. Emergency indeed.

“That sounds like good news, actually.”  
“Well, you would think so… but I don’t think that he is going to accept the job.”  
“Not accept the job?”  
There was a pause. “How well do you know the new Headmaster?”

Galatea thought about it. She knew almost nothing. The man had come in two days after the children had left, and he still hadn’t bothered introducing himself to any of the staff, at least as far as she knew.  
“Well, he was only just hired. I don’t know that I’ve ever met Walter Aragon, but I know him by reputation – he researches magical creatures native to Britain. Or, at least he has written a couple of books on the subject. Pure-blood, of course, as if the Board would invite anyone else to be Headmaster. And I understand that he has no teaching experience whatsoever.”  
“You are correct in all of that. Additionally, he seems to have no experience with people, either.”

Galatea laughed. “He can’t be as bad as Headmaster Black?”  
“No-ooo? I don’t know how he will be with the students. But Black, at least, never asked someone in an interview if they had ever been intimate with a goat.”  
“He didn’t!”  
“Yes, he did. Just an hour ago.”  
“Well I suppose that I ought to ask – how did the wizard reply?”  
“He confronted the Headmaster about treating the front page of _The Prophet_ as anything other than fiction. And then he explained that he is a goat Animagus, and that is why a goat had been spotted leaving his house. Which set Aragon off on a lecture about the perils of the Animagus transformation, and whether or not it should be considered a Dark Art.”  
Galatea bristled. She was not an Animagus herself, but she had a great deal of respect for those that she knew.

“Did Aragon ask anything pertinent at all?”  
“On the contrary, everything he asked was _impertinent_ , including several questions about the man’s famously dead sister, at least one question about whether he was a ‘revolutionary’ like his brother, and an invitation to see Aragon’s collection of jarred newts. He did ask one question about potions – he wanted to know if the potions master thought that the Headmaster was using the correct potion for his hair type.”  
“And then he offered him the job?”  
“And then he offered him the job.”

It would be hard to call this something as small as a ‘misstep.’  
Aethelfrith continued, “I’m not sure why he bothered with humiliating the poor man. I daresay he intended to offer him the job all along. After all, he is one of only four people with a Potions Mastery living in Britain, counting the one who just retired from the position at the end of this term. In any case, I know this man fairly well, and he is not going to want to work for such an incompetent…”  
“Knob? Was that the word you were looking for? Sweet Mary, mother of God. I don’t want to work for Aragon now, either!”  
“We can only hope that he won’t be very hands on with the staff. But there’s nothing to be done about him where interviews are concerned.”  
Galatea wished they had let Ursula hire the new professors for the coming year, in her capacity as the interim Headmaster after Phineas died. But the Board had insisted that the new Headmaster should have that privilege. What a mistake. 

“Dumbledore, was it? Aberforth Dumbledore?”  
“Oh! You know him!”  
“No, well, I recognized him from the ‘interview’ questions.”  
“Ah. So you read _The Prophet_ as well.”  
The disappointment and disgust in his voice was clear.  
“I have to read _The Prophet_ , Aethelfrith, if I want to know what the children and their parents believe. It doesn’t mean I have to believe it myself.”  
Aethelfrith conceded the point.

“But I imagine you are not here for gossip. What are you hoping to get me to do?”  
“May I sit on your head? I want to work out a strategy with you.”  
Always looking to sit on someone’s head, the little voyeur.  
“Certainly, Aethelfrith. But since it seems that I am staying, we are headed to the sitting room for some whiskey.”  
“Oh delightful! Second hand intoxication!”  
Galatea swooped Aethelfrith onto her head in a practiced gesture, and left her half-packed valise behind.

***********

Professor Merrythought observed the man walking up the path towards to Hogwarts gate. She had looked at his school records. Aberforth Dumbledore was just over forty. He had been a student who routinely ranked as Acceptable (but with E’s in Potions and Care of Magical Creatures), until his OWL year, when he started to make O’s in nearly everything – including the three classes traditionally seen as most difficult: Potions, Runes, and Arithmancy. It was an impressive record.  
She had also asked the house-elves about him. To a one, they remembered him fondly. He had brought a flock of chickens with him when he became the Headmaster’s ward the summer before his OWL year, and he had gifted them to the elves, insisting that the eggs were not to be shared with the witches and wizards of Hogwarts, but were for the elves’ personal use. He had also eaten with them in the kitchens at least once a week, and valued their advice. 

He was clean shaven and kept his auburn hair short. He was neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin. More of a practical dresser than a fashionable one, it seemed. He was not wearing a robe – only trousers and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He had a piece of parchment gripped in his left hand – the letter she’d sent yesterday afternoon, she imagined, and a glower that could be spotted at twenty yards.

“Aberforth Dumbledore?”  
He grunted in the affirmative.  
“I am Galatea Merrythought, Head of Gryffindor House, and Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. It is a pleasure to meet you.”  
He tipped his head. “Is it now.”  
She laughed. “It’s you alright! Aethelfrith said you would be surly.”  
“Surly?! Now see here!”  
Galatea’s voice became stern. “No, Master Dumbledore, _you_ see here. I have been looking over your school records, as well as your publications, and I have spoken to some friends at St. Mungo’s. It is entirely possible that you could become the best potions professor this school has seen in two centuries, and I have no intention of letting you skive off because Aragon is an arse.” 

The man’s eyes widened. He held out his hand. “Call me Aberforth.”  
She shook the hand he offered and replied, “Galatea. Delighted. Now let’s get up to the school – Aethelfrith’s waiting for us.”  
Aberforth groaned. “That blasted meddling Hat.”  
Galatea laughed again. “Oh, I’m going to like you, Aberforth. We are going to get along just fine.”

***************

Aberforth entered Galatea’s sitting room and looked around until his eyes settled on Aethelfrith.  
“Got your own chair, do you now? I understand I have you to thank for this – imposition.”  
“I prefer to call it an intervention. Aragon, he’s the imposition.”  
“He was that.”  
Merrythought sat and invited Aberforth to do the same. “Whiskey?”  
“No, not anymore. Thank you.”  
“Tea then?”  
“I –“  
“Don’t drink any tea that you haven’t blended and brewed yourself? Don’t worry. You’re not the first Potions Master I’ve known. If I have my way, you’ll be living here soon enough, and then you’ll have your tea on the premises.”

Aberforth looked a little embarrassed.  
“Oh no!” Merrythought laughed. “Don’t tell me - you are one of those who grows all of your own ingredients too, aside from those you have to go abroad and harvest yourself? Lovely. I hope that you give your tea as gifts! Biscuit?”  
Aberforth took one from the plate that was floating in front of him. “Yes thanks.” 

She looked at him carefully. “Aethelfrith has assured me that you don’t have sex with goats.”  
Aberforth started to tense up until he saw her mischievous smile – then he laughed.  
“Not so far.”  
“Excellent.” Galatea was not doing a very good job of looking serious – on the contrary, the corner of her lip was twitching in a barely suppressed laugh. “Because that is a very important and relevant question – perhaps the only thing I need to know in order to decide whether you would be a good potions professor.”  
Aberforth cackled. This was going better than Galatea had hoped. Clearly Aethelfrith had been onto something with this plan.

It seemed, however, that Aethelfrith found nothing humorous in what had just transpired between the witch and the wizard. He burst out impatiently, “If I could move on my own power, I would have jammed myself over that idiot’s head and smothered him on the spot. That was not an interview! It was a garbled tabloid article!”

“Right,” said Merrythought, shooting a quelling look at the Hat. “Thank you, Aethelfrith. That brings us to why we invited you here.”  
“Not to tease me about my tea-picking? Nor to inquire after my goats?”  
“A little bit, and not at all. Aethelfrith and I decided that you should get the interview you deserved. So, Master Dumbledore. Make yourself comfortable.”

Aberforth crossed and uncrossed his arms in an obvious display of discomfort.  
“This is really not necessary, Galatea. I’m beginning to consider accepting the position just so that I can join you to snark about Aragon periodically and eat your biscuits.”  
“No, Aberforth, it is entirely necessary. You were not treated like a professional – you were treated like a curiosity. You were not treated like your own person, but as if you only existed in the context of media reports and your family history. If you do indeed agree to work here, it is important that you feel secure in your place here as part of a professional staff. It is important for you to know that you have the confidence of the faculty – whether or not the Headmaster is a wanker. The very first day of classes, the students need to see you being treated like you belong here.”  
“And – you can do this for me?”

Aethelfrith spoke up. “She’s a bit of a shadow Headmistress.”  
Galatea looked at the Hat in astonishment. “That’s not true!”  
“It is true. The professors looked to you for guidance instead of Black, and they will do it again with Aragon. They know that the only reason you don’t have the position is that you’re a half-blood.”  
“Well! That wasn’t awkward at all,” said Galatea, blushing.  
Aethelfrith spoke to Aberforth. “She doesn’t take compliments well. For future reference.”

Aberforth cleared his throat. “So – an interview, you said?”  
“Oh, yes – let’s do this properly shall we? For the sake of authenticity, you may address me as ‘Professor Merrythought.’”  
Aberforth rolled his eyes. “Alright, Professor.”

“Very well! Let’s begin Master Dumbledore. I have read a couple of your papers. I was very interested in your improved, less addictive dreamless sleep potion. It seems you have both developed entirely new potions and modified existing potions. Which do you find more rewarding?”  
“Ah – well. I don’t believe there is such a thing as an ‘entirely new potion.’ There is always inspiration to be found in existing potions – even if none of the ingredients in a new potion are the same, the way that the ingredients interact, or the pattern of the stirring – something will spark an idea. Every idea a potioneer has – or at least every idea I have had – is building on prior experience.”

Well, the Hat had not been wrong. Aberforth was a more careful thinker than the rumours of his temper had suggested. When it came to his work at least. She had been warned to not bring up his family.

“Interesting. And what have you been working on recently?”  
“To be honest? I have developed no new potions since becoming the lab supervisor at St. Mungo’s six years ago. I was simply too overwhelmed with all of my other duties. That was one of the things that drew me to this position – with summers off, I could devote six weeks out of the year to research, and still have time to restock the potions classroom and plan classes for the coming year.”  
Merrythought considered that Aberforth might be disappointed by how quickly the summers seemed to pass, but that was something to discuss another time. 

“That makes sense – but imagine that I was asking the question more generally. Not ‘what discoveries have you made about new potions recipes lately?’ but ‘what discoveries of any kind have you made recently?’”  
“Most recently, I’d say that I’ve come to realize that Aethelfrith is not, in fact, the only meddling bastard I can tolerate.”  
Galatea snorted, and then quickly composed her face into that of a ‘serious interviewer.’  
Aethelfrith was less amused. “Cheeky boy – but you may remember that, if it were not for my ‘meddling’, you would be a greengrocer right now.”  
“No harm in being a greengrocer.”  
“Perhaps not. But _you_ would have found it boring, with time.”

“Fine, Aethelfrith. I will admit that I do enjoy being a Potions Master. And have done, all this time. It is hard not to have an appreciation for how useful potions can be. How practical. There were other disciplines that didn’t grab my attention while I was here, because I couldn’t understand when I would ever use what I was learning. But potions – there are so many health applications. Potions are used around the world every day not just to improve people’s lives in simple ways, but to literally save lives. The blood replenishing potion, for example, might be one of the best things ever to happen to the Wizarding world.”  
“I stand by the idea that being a greengrocer is a more noble profession than many, but I am admittedly impacting many more people through my work in potions manufacture and research, and I enjoy it a great deal.”  
Galatea liked this analogy very much. Her mother’s father had been a wheelwright, and she had often thought that he was one of the most thoughtful and honourable men she had known. 

For the next question, Galatea would need to tread carefully, but she felt it was important.  
“I have found that, while I enjoy my work too, there is a sense in which it is never-ending. For many intellectuals, our hobbies keep us sane. If it is not too impertinent – can you tell me about your life _outside of your work?_ What you like to do?”

Aberforth took a deep breath. Galatea worried that she had ruined all of the groundwork she had laid – that he was about to close off. But then his faced softened, and she felt a bit hopeful.  
“I confess that I have never been one to play darts or follow Quidditch. And I have no tolerance for politics, though I suppose I am going to have to take up that thrice-damned Wizengamot seat again.” He looked suddenly chastened. “Pardon me, Professor Merrythought.”  
Galatea waved her hand dismissively, and he continued. “All of my other interests have some practical use. Baking, gardening, woodworking… things I can do with my hands, things that have a concrete end result, things that are useful – even if not on the scale of my potions research.”  
“Excellent! I knit, myself. The muggle way. It is very soothing, perfectible, and it is something that has a clear beginning and end. And as you say, I am left with a concrete product that will be of use to myself or someone else.”  
Aberforth looked at the floor, “My sister used to…”

Galatea didn’t prompt him to continue, but waited while he gathered himself.  
After nearly a minute had passed, Aberforth spoke up, “I apologize, Professor.”  
“No, I apologize, Aberforth.”  
He looked at her. “Aberforth?”  
“Oh, I think we’ve played interview long enough – let’s go back to first names?  
“But first! Master Dumbledore, it is with great pleasure that I offer you the job of potions professor.”

He laughed. “I already had the job!”  
“Yes, but – will you take it now?”  
Aberforth didn’t stop to think about it.  
“Naturally! Why wouldn’t I? I have been thinking about applying to Hogwarts for years!”  
“You mean you weren’t scared off by Aragon?”  
“I don’t know that ‘fear’ and ‘self-preservation’ are synonymous…” he muttered, then continued, “No, I was not interested in working for Aragon, it’s true.”

“HA!” exclaimed Aethelfrith in triumph.  
“Yes, yes. You are very wise. All bow to the Hat, defender of Hogwarts.”  
Merrythought laughed. “I’d say that inflating Aethelfrith’s already absurd ego is a small price to pay for bringing you on staff. Welcome back to Hogwarts, Aberforth Dumbledore.” 

********

When Galatea came back to her quarters after walking him to the gate, she found that Aethelfrith was still in her sitting room.  
She groaned. “What is it now, Aethelfrith?”  
The Hat offered a lopsided smile. “Is that any way to greet your oldest and dearest friend?”  
Dearest? That might be right. Oldest? Well, it was hard to be older than nine centuries.  
She scowled at him. “Out with it. I’m serious. I am more than ready to walk out the gate and apparate home.”  
“He fancies you.”

“Aberforth? He does not!” She sat down. “Oh no. You think so? Lord, that’s going to be awkward. I hate having that conversation. It rarely goes well at all. Do you think I can just set him up with one of the other professors? With the girl at the stationery shop?”  
“No, Galatea, you cannot start randomly tossing women at him. You need to address this first. The best time would be when he asks you to accompany him on an outing – which he certainly will, if I was reading him correctly. Then you can tell him how you feel, however it is that you feel. I imagine that you would not be averse to going to dinner with him? Or on a hike? Or on a tea harvesting expedition?”  
“No, all of that sounds delightful. If only.” Galatea sighed. “Thank you for the warning, Aethelfrith. It is always best to be prepared.”

She leaned her head against the chair and shut her eyes. She had liked Aberforth a great deal. It was always good to get another Gryffindor on staff – she knew that she was biased, but in her opinion, Gryffindors had a superior sense of humour.  
“Galatea? I think this time, you have found someone who is likely to be satisfied with whatever you want to give him. Don’t give up on Aberforth yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Goblet of Fire, Albus insinuates that Aberforth is illiterate. This has always struck me as patently false - and Albus would have known it. There is no way that Aberforth could have spent so long at Hogwarts without being able to read. Those two just resented each other so much, they could not resist randomly bad-mouthing each other to outsiders.  
> I have always imagined that Aberforth is far brighter than anyone gives him credit for, so it has given me a great deal of pleasure to suppose that, with The Sorting Hat's intervention, he might have gone on to get some sort of mastery.


	7. 1931: Dorea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Black in Hufflepuff? You'd better believe it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I haven't mentioned it in awhile -
> 
> The world in which this story takes place and the characters, as well as any plot points you recognize, are the work of JKRowling. I'm writing this for my own enjoyment - not for any financial gain.

Chapter 7: Dorea Black  
September 1931

The other children seemed to not be paying attention to the song. Dorea looked over at Headmaster Dippet. He was looking towards the Hat with an unfocused gaze. She wondered what it might be like to write about the houses and the coming year in verse, and have no one pay attention. Writing in meter and rhyme was hard. Her tutor made her write poetry, and her mother scolded that each poem’s many drafts required “almost more parchment than even a Black can afford!” 

All of the houses sounded noble to her, the way the Hat spoke about them. The Hat said that loyalty didn’t belong to any one house, but to all of them. Gryffindors were loyal to their ideals, Slytherins to themselves, their families, and closest friends, Ravenclaws to the Truth, and Hufflepuffs to - it seemed that the Hat was saying that Hufflepuffs were loyal to everyone? Or tried to be? 

Dorea had heard some... not so nice things about Hufflepuff House. It was the house where students went who didn’t fit anywhere else. For students who were not smart, not brave, and without any drive. But maybe not... And she was so caught up in her thoughts that she missed her name being called, and was only roused when the Deputy Head put his hand on her shoulder.  
“Miss Black?”  
How embarrassing.

“Ah! Miss Black! You are too kind. But I must admit that writing in verse becomes easier with some hundreds of years of practice. It may be that I even recycle stanzas.”  
“I’m sorry? How did you...?”  
“Aren’t you an inquisitive and thoughtful one! And bashful, it seems. Humility, my dear, involves knowing your strengths as well as your weaknesses – taking credit for your contributions without drawing attention to them, while acknowledging the contributions of others. It does not involve denying that you have a contribution to make.”  
“But you didn’t answer...”  
“I’m reading your surface thoughts.”  
“So you know already...”  
“That you find yourself fascinated by Hufflepuff? Yes. Why is that?”  
Dorea was a little put out by a mind-reading hat. She was glad that she didn’t have to subdue the Giant Squid, as Pollux had insisted, but she might have rathered a history quiz or a riddle challenge or... “It would seem that you know yourself why I am fascinated by Hufflepuff.”  
“Mmmm. Perhaps. But perhaps it would do you good to articulate it for yourself.”  
“Well, I had thought that Hufflepuffs were kind of... boring? But if they are loyal to everyone, well, that seems really hard.”  
That hat laughed. “Harder than writing poetry?”  
Dorea laughed too. “I don’t think anything is harder than writing poetry.”  
The Hat was quiet. It didn’t seem fair to Dorea that he could know what was in her mind, and she didn’t know what was in his.  
“What do you think makes it hard to be loyal to everyone, Dorea?”  
“Well. Sometimes Pollux wants me to do one thing, and Cassie wants me to do another. And sometimes I don’t want to do either one. And that’s just three people. How can anyone learn how to balance the needs of lots of different people? Is it even possible to figure out what is best for everyone? Without leaving anyone behind?”  
“Would you like to find out? The best place to look for answers would be –  
HUFFLEPUFF!”

Later that evening, when Dorea went to the Owlery to send a note to her parents about her first day, she found Cassie waiting for her. Dorea burst into tears.  
“Oh Dorrie!” Cassie hugged her sister, and petted her hair, before stepping away, and putting on a mock-stern face. “What does mother always say?”  
Dorea rolled her eyes. “Blacks don’t cry.”  
Cassie smiled, and gently rubbed away some of Dorea’s tears.  
“But! What are mother and father going to say about my sorting?! And Pollux! He always said that Hufflepuffs were only good for...”  
“Only good for shopkeepers and barmaids, I remember.”  
“What could I even say to them to make it ok?”  
“Well, let’s see what you did say.”

Cassiopeia took the letter from Dorea’s hand and read it silently.  
“Oh Dorrie. No. No, you cannot apologize for your sorting. Hufflepuff is a good match for you. You care about people. You always have. There is no reason for you to be ashamed, nor for you to give mother and father an opening to complain. Incendio!”  
Dorea’s letter was soon nothing but ash.  
“Now what?!” Dorea moaned.  
“Here.” Cassiopeia shoved a letter at her younger sister. “I came up here to head you off – but also to mail this.”

_Dear Father and Mother,  
I know that it is too early yet to miss us, when we have been gone for less than a day, but I thought that you might like to hear from us nonetheless. What a long and eventful day it has been! Astrid brought a half-kneazle on the train, and..._

“Cassie – I don’t see what this has to do with – anything!”  
“Just keep reading, Dorrie.”  
“Blah blah Robert, Blah blah blah thestrals – What’s a thestral?”  
“Nevermind. It’s farther down.”  
Dorrie silently scanned the parchment, then gasped.  
“I can’t believe you said that about our Headmaster! Headmaster Dippet is...”  
“One step away from becoming ‘Headmaster Binns.’” Before her sister could interrupt, she added, “Anyway, that’s past the point I wanted you to read. It’s this paragraph.”

_You would have been proud to see Dorea this evening in the Great Hall. Unlike the other First Years, she neither fidgeted nor chattered, but listened to the Hat quietly and attentively. The Hat took some time sorting our Dorrie, but finally decided on the house of our first female Minister of Magic. I know that she will continue to represent the family with dignity as a Hufflepuff._

Cassie swallowed, to loosen the tightness in her throat. Blacks don’t cry. Blacks don’t cry.  
“Is it true?”  
“If I said it, the answer is yes. Is what true?”  
“Was the first female Minister of Magic a Hufflepuff?”  
“Yes! Artemisia Lufkin. And she isn’t notable simply for being a woman. She established the DIMC. Very accomplished. And I imagine she was able to accomplish what she did because she was a Hufflepuff.”  
“You think so?”  
“Absolutely. With your permission, I am going to mail this letter now, and you can write one to send tomorrow. You were too excited to write anything coherent tonight.”  
“I’m not – Oh. Right. Tomorrow, I will remember that I ought to have... But, I thought that everything you say is true?”  
“What I said was absolutely true, Sparrow. What you wrote tonight was incoherent. And there’s more than one kind of excitement. If you were to say that you didn’t remember until tomorrow morning, then that would be untrue. If that’s important to you.”  
Dorea narrowed her eyes at her sister. But Cassie looked calm, and not at all like she had meant to be insulting. It would not do to argue with her one sure ally in the family. 

“Thanks, Cassie.”  
“My pleasure, Sparrow.” She kissed the top of her sister’s head. “Now fly away, little bird. It is almost your curfew. I’m happy to encourage Father and Mother to celebrate your sorting, but no one will be proud of points lost on your first day at Hogwarts. Least of all your fellow Hufflepuffs.”  
Cassiopeia took her sister gently by the shoulders, and spun her around towards the stairs. 

As Dorea walked away, she heard Cassiopeia sighing, “I guess she isn’t my Sparrow any more. She’s a Badger.”  
Dorea tucked that away for another night. She would make sure that Cassie knew that she would always be her Sparrow. As long as Cassie never ever called her that in front of any of her new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may seem almost like a one-shot - but Dorea is going to become important later.


	8. 1935: Minerva and Galatea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might be wondering when Minerva married Arcturus Black -  
> While my other multi-chapter fic, The Greater Good, takes place in a parallel universe (as opposed to this universe exactly), this will ultimately be covered in more detail in Part 2 of that story.  
> In the meantime, I hope that it is enough information to say that Sirius and Albus were friends when they were sitting on the Wizengamot together, and he came to know and like Minerva, and engineered a meeting between the two of them.
> 
> I myself like Albus Dumbledore very much. But the Aethelfrith was wary of 11 year Albus, didn't like the way 17 year old Albus treated his younger brother, and is a longtime friend of Aberforth. As such, he is _not_ a fan of Albus. I'm ok with allowing this difference of opinion to stand.

Chapter 8: Minerva McGonagall Black and Galatea Merrythought  
July 1935

Minerva came down the stairs from the Headmaster’s office. That interview had been entirely too easy. No mention of how two of her daughters were still students at Hogwarts, no personal questions whatsoever, no questions even about her teaching techniques and philosophies. There were only three questions: Did she have a Mastery? (yes) Had she been published? (extensively) Could she be there the third week of August, to get settled before term started? (certainly)  
And just like that, she was hired.

Minerva was glad to have the job – naturally she was. After all, she had interviewed for the position – obviously she wanted it. But she wished Dippet had been more – engaged. Getting hired didn’t seem like much of an accomplishment. She felt strangely deflated.  
Minerva wished that Arcturus wasn’t in America right now. And she missed her father – he had always been helpful when she was feeling this way. Perhaps Ursula was available to visit. Her mother-in-law was almost as reassuring as Arcturus – and the girls would love to see her.

Opening the door at the bottom of the stairs she saw a woman in teaching robes – she couldn’t place her exactly…  
“Galatea Merrythought,” the woman said. She did not hold out her hand. “I am the Deputy Headmistress. I imagine that Dippet’s interview was – less than thorough. I’d like to rectify that. Come with me, please, Mrs. Black.”  
Minerva wasn’t sure where Professor Merrythought’s seeming animosity was coming from – as far as she knew, they had never met one another. Though she now realized where she had seen her – at Malcolm’s graduation. She had been his favourite professor, Defence Against the Dark Arts, hired just before his sixth year. Dear Lord. Surely Malcolm hadn’t done anything to justify such a long-standing grudge? 

They arrived in the Defence classroom, and Professor Merrythought led her through a door near the front of the classroom that led to a spacious office, with a view of the Forbidden Forest. On her desk sat… The Sorting Hat?!

“Hello, Minerva.”  
“Hello, Aethelfrith. Sirius told me that you were responsible for getting me work when Headmaster Black refused to give me a position. Thank you for that.”  
“Oh, no. Sirius did all the legwork.”

Merrythought interrupted. “Very funny, Aethelfrith. You did not tell me that you and Mrs. Black were friends.”  
“Friends might be going too far – I haven’t seen Minerva in twenty years – and I haven’t spoken to her in longer. If I could claim to have been friends with any McGonagall, it would be her younger brother Robert. I did know her husband, Arcturus, quite well as a child. He was – tolerable. For a Black.”  
“I’m going to tell Ursula you said so!” Minerva mock-threatened. Then she turned to Professor Merrythought. “My mother-in-law.”  
“I’m aware,” said Merrythought dully.

The poor woman. Clearly this meeting was not going according to plan for her. If Aethelfrith would stop acting like he was the host here, then perhaps it would be possible to smooth things over.  
“Professor Merrythought. I’m sure that Aethelfrith and I seemed quite rude. You were the one who invited me here, so please, how can I help you?”

Galatea nodded curtly. “Have a seat and I’ll pour you some tea.”  
Minerva calculated that Aethelfrith would likely know if there was anything wrong with the tea. She was not sure if it was better to check the tea anyway – would a Defence teacher think her careless or naïve if she failed to do so? Then again, if she did check the tea, would that seem to be an insult? Given the crackling hostility in the room, she decided that it was best to try to de-escalate the situation. She drank the tea without testing it.

“I understand that you worked for Albus Dumbledore.”  
Had she purposefully waited until Minerva had a mouthful of tea? Well. It would take more than that to make her spit in a teacup. She was a Half-blood who had married into the most prominent Pureblood family in England. She had been a minister’s daughter and a politician’s secretary. She was a scholar in a field dominated by men, and a hands-on mother in a social class that delegated the child-rearing to house elves.  
She was not so easily flustered. Minerva McGonagall Black was poise personified. 

She swallowed her tea and set her cup down delicately.  
“Oh, yes. That was years ago now. I was Mister Dumbledore’s secretary and research assistant for six years: 1912 to 1918.”  
“And why did you leave his employ?”  
“Largely because of the birth of my second daughter.”

She might have quit around that time anyway, regardless of family obligations, as Albus had started becoming more secretive and distractible around that time, but she did not know Professor Merrythought well enough to share such information. And in any case, it was true that Europa made it almost impossible to work when she was young. She had been a very difficult baby, constantly crying. But more trying than that was her accidental magic, which was noticeable from an unusually early age. Dressing that child had been a job in itself.

“Are you still in touch with him?”  
“Dumbledore? No, not since he left England in – 1925?”  
She paused to think about it. “No, it would be more accurate to say that I wrote him once after he left the country, and he has written me four times since I last wrote to him, but I never replied. I think his last letter to me was – three years ago?”

Galatea sighed. “Yes, he reached out to Aberforth around that time, too.”  
“Oh! Wonderful! You know Aberforth! I haven’t seen him in years and years. I hope that he is well.”  
The Hat began laughing, then coughing.  
Why would he be coughing? Minerva wondered. He didn’t need to breathe. Come to think of it, what was the speech mechanism there? ‘Magic’ was never an adequate explanation. Even if Muggles might not imagine it that way, magic was, in the final analysis, reasonable – governed by the same natural laws as everything else. ‘Matter can be neither created nor destroyed,’ for instance. Transfigured objects did not just spring out of nowhere!

She almost got carried away enough to miss Galatea glaring at Aethelfrith. There was definitely something going on there, but she did not want to antagonize Professor Merrythought further.  
“Yes, right, well. I imagine I am not here to talk about Aberforth!”

Professor Merrythought looked conflicted.  
“Actually, you _are_ here to talk about Aberforth. After a fashion.”  
“Oh?” This was – unexpected.  
“I – misunderstood the nature of your connection to Albus. I had thought perhaps you were – one of his followers? Or a very close friend? …”  
Minerva considered. “No, I would not say that Albus had very close friendships with anyone. Perhaps Gellert Grindelwald.”  
“Mmm. Yes. Grindelwald.”

“And I cannot agree with their alleged methods.”  
“Alleged?”  
“I personally have no conclusive evidence of Albus’ involvement in any violence, but he did not deny it when I asked him directly, which is one of the reasons I ceased corresponding with him.”  
“I see.”  
“So – Aberforth?”  
“Aberforth was hurt very badly by his brother, more than once. He is our potions professor –“  
Aethelfrith made a noise that would have been a throat clearing, if he had had a throat.

“Our potions professor, _as well as_ my long-time companion. And I did not want anyone to be brought on staff that would make him feel uncomfortable at Hogwarts.”  
“I see. And have you talked to Aberforth about this at all?”  
“Well – It was only two weeks ago that I learned that you applied for the position, and I have only seen Aberforth once in all that time, given that we see each other less frequently in the summer so that he can have uninterrupted time in the lab…”  
“So, the answer is no, you have not. If you were to ask Aberforth, I imagine he would say that he and I were on good terms when I was working with Albus, just as he himself was on good terms with his brother at that time. Aberforth visited when each of my daughters was born, and I write to him whenever I see one of his articles published. We were not what you would have called close, but I hold no ill-will towards him – quite the contrary – and I hope that he feels the same way about me.”

Both women were silent for a moment, while they sipped their tea. Aethelfrith took the opportunity to speak up.  
“Minerva, dear. What made you apply to Hogwarts now? I would have thought that you would have applied when your father-in-law died, as Aberforth did.”  
Well look at that – the Hat was good for something besides needling Professor Merrythought. Changing the subject to something actually work related was the first constructive thing he had done since Minerva had walked into this office.

“Elara was only three then. Children change so quickly at that age. And I had Callisto and Europa, too. Now that Callisto has graduated, and my other two daughters are here - I’m bored, honestly. My children – and almost all of their cousins, for that matter – are either away at school or have already graduated. Arcturus told me that I needed to get a job before I made everyone in the house crazy, starting with myself.”  
Galatea laughed. “I cannot imagine. I feel ready to get back in front of a classroom before the summer is half over.”  
Minerva shrugged, and smiled, and took another biscuit. “This shortbread is outstanding.”  
“Isn’t it? Aberforth is the baker. He blends our tea, too.”  
“Amazing! I had no idea. You are a very lucky woman, Professor Merrythought.”

“Oh – call me Galatea. I’m sorry about how I started off with you. It was entirely unfair.”  
“Not at all. If I thought someone might make life miserable for Arcturus, I might very well behave similarly. And please do call me Minerva.”  
Galatea inclined her head. “That is very generous of you, but I’m not sure that I ought to skip ahead in that way, given that I haven’t yet called you by your proper title, Madame Black…”  
Minerva laughed. “Yes, well, purposefully failing to acknowledge my mastery was not the first indication that you were unhappy with me. But I believe that is not so large a slight that it can’t be easily forgotten. Perhaps now that you have called me Madame Black the once, you will consent to call me Minerva?”

Galatea smiled. “Thank you, Minerva.” She took another sip of tea and looked out the window before turning back to Minerva. “This afternoon has not gone at all as I had thought. Thank God.”  
Minerva quirked up one side of her mouth. “My afternoon has been similarly unexpected. Although I have to say that your line of questioning was the one thing that matched my expectations – it is rare for me not to be asked about Mister Dumbledore when people learn that I worked for him. It struck me as almost neglectful that Headmaster Dippet failed to mention it.”  
“That’s not the only thing he neglects,” muttered Aethelfrith.

Galatea sighed. “What did you think of Dippet, Minerva?”  
“He was certainly not what I expected. He seemed to be inconvenienced that I had shown up for the interview he had scheduled for the position he had posted.”  
“That,” said Galatea, “may be because I was the one who posted the position and scheduled the interview.”  
Aethelfrith disagreed. “That sounds almost like you are excusing him, Merrythought. The man neglects his most basic duties. The things I see from up on that shelf…”

It hadn’t sounded like an excuse at all to Minerva, and she found herself wanting to defend Galatea from Aethelfrith, or at least to head off that line of thought. “I imagine he is very difficult to work with, especially for you, as Deputy Headmistress. What is it like to be a teacher here, with him as the Headmaster?”  
“He is embarrassing, sometimes, at the Head Table, where it is impossible to disguise how disinterested he is. But largely, the staff manage just fine without him. The staff meetings he neglects are usually more productive than the rare meetings he attends. He doesn’t offer any oversight as far as curriculum and text book selection go, but our instructors are all sufficiently competent that this bit of anarchy might be for the best.  
“The main problem is when there is something that requires his signature, for instance, when he needs to approve a pay rise for someone on staff, or when he needs to authorize the purchase of potions ingredients or supplies for the infirmary. And interviews, of course. He’s pants at interviews.”

Aethelfrith let out an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, I have seen those interviews. None of them was any more enlightening than your own, Minerva. Some were worse.”  
“How could they be worse?”  
“Once, I heard him only ask one question – can you start next Tuesday?”

Minerva was appalled. “Galatea! How has Hogwarts managed to assemble a ‘sufficiently competent’ faculty, as you said, without any kind of critical examination of the candidates?”  
“Usually I do my own research, with the help of Aethelfrith and other members of the faculty.”  
“But – how does that work? I’ve already been hired by Headmaster Dippet!”  
“Oh, if there’s one thing Dippet hates, it’s conflict. All I have to do is go in there and pretend to throw a tantrum, and he gives in – as long as I agree to be the one to tell the new hire that they are ‘no longer needed.’ Sometimes I delegate the tantrum, if I feel that I have been in in his office too many times recently.”

This was very interesting information. Minerva wondered what else she could learn from Galatea about manipulating different members of the staff. This woman was not 100% Gryffindor. Minerva wondered if she had been a hat stall. She might ask her later. It was too early for such questions.  
Not that they hadn’t covered a great many personal matters already today, but Minerva hoped that she and Galatea might be friends, and if so, then she would have plenty of time to learn – all sorts of things about her. Like whether she was a Half-Blood or a Muggleborn – she seemed unlikely to be a Pureblood, seeing as she had said ‘Thank God’ earlier, instead of ‘thank the gods.’ Did this mean she had been brought up as a Christian, like Minerva, or simply that she had grown up in a Muggle community? Or did she grow up surrounded by Magicals, but with a parent or grandparent who used Muggle expletives?  
But then, she might have been raised a Pureblood after all – ‘Merrythought’ did sound like a wizarding name. Not that it was always easy to tell. Maybe she was related to the Greengrass family? Some of them were Christian, somehow. And some of the Abbots.  
Come to think of it, the Shafiqs had family members who were Muslim, as well as some who were Jewish, and one who had married a Sikh. They were unusually ecumenical. Not that anyone from one of those faiths was likely to say, 'Thank God.' She thought. No, she really didn't have any basis for that prejudice. She should look into it.  
Perhaps Galatea had learned ‘Thank God’ from the Muggleborn spouse of a sibling? Did Galatea have siblings? If so, was she the oldest, like Minerva? The youngest, like Robert? Minerva was not at all surprised that the Hat had liked Robert best. It was impossible not to like Robert, she thought. Or was she a middle child, like Malcolm? Like Aberforth…  
How long had Galatea known Aberforth? _How was he teaching?_ The temper on that man! But she hadn’t seen him in years – not for longer than to say ‘hello’ to – people changed. _She_ had changed.  
Could she do this? Teach? She had wanted to years ago – did she still want to now? Was there any way to tell without doing it? Was that fair to the children?

She heard a voice from far away: _...Aethelfrith… not answering… offend her?..._  
“Oh, don’t worry. She’s thinking of all of the questions she has in her head.”  
“Does she do this often?”  
“I don’t know. But getting lost in thought doesn’t seem like the sort of thing that would change about a person.”

Minerva realized that Aethelfrith and Galatea were talking about her.  
“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t think of what I wanted to ask next, and all of the questions I wanted not to ask yet were crowding in my brain, so that I couldn’t see past them to the question that needed asking soonest.”  
Aethelfrith laughed. “And what question, young lady, needs asking soonest?”  
“Do I still have the job?”

Galatea smiled. “Oh yes, I would say so. Your articles make it clear that you are very knowledgeable about your subject, and you have raised three delightful and intelligent girls – if you can do half as good a job on a larger scale, then you will be an excellent teacher. But I’ll tell you what I tell every new hire – as far as I’m concerned, your first year is a probationary year. If you do an adequate job teaching and maintaining discipline, and you still want to do it by the end of the year – then you have the job for as long as you want it – or at least until you become noticeably incompetent. But somehow, I don’t think incompetence is something that we will have to worry about with you.”

After Minerva had left, Galatea slumped down into her chair, and looked at Aethelfrith. “Don’t say a word.”  
“You know me better than that, Galatea. I am going to say an extraordinary number of words.”  
She sighed, “Well, get on with it then.”  
“Aberforth would have been very upset if you had scared her away.”  
Galatea laughed. “It would not have been possible to scare her away, I think.”  
“Oh yes. She could have been a Gryffindor as easily as she could have been a Ravenclaw, that one. Stubborn, brave, resilient…”

“I liked her.”  
“I’m glad.”  
“You knew I would, didn’t you?”  
Aethelfrith laughed. “I did not know if you would stay in the room with her long enough to realize it today. But eventually? Yes.”

Merrythought summoned a cup of tea, and sat holding it, smelling it, thinking of Aberforth, looking forward to seeing him the next day.  
“You know, Galatea, Cygnus didn’t always have three children. Once upon a time, he had four.”  
Galatea did not know that, and she wasn’t sure why Aethelfrith thought she needed to know about it right now. If Cygnus had lost a child…  
“Marius is his name. A Squib. Cygnus said he was a disgrace, said he was going to put him out on the street, maybe take him to a Muggle orphanage. Minerva and Arcturus took him in. She doesn’t have three daughters – she has three daughters and a son.”  
Galatea thought about this a moment.

“You want me to know what kind of person she is.”  
“Yes. There are many things you could return to when you start to doubt her character, but I want you to remember this one: she is a witch who raised a Squib who was not of her blood. She wasn’t completely standing against the family – Ursula and Sirius supported her, of course – but neither of them were prepared to take Marius in. And Arcturus might not have, if it weren’t for Minerva’s insistence.  
“Having or not having magic is no measure of a person’s worth or potential, in Minerva’s eyes. She is not Albus Dumbledore, Galatea – she is a great deal more extraordinary.”

The Hat disappeared with a pop. She was exhausted, and she missed Aberforth. Perhaps she would see about going to the cottage to see him a day early.


	9. 1938: Aberforth, Galatea, and Tom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, the Sorting Hat wants something from Galatea - and it is a bigger ask than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the first one I wrote. It has changed a lot, because that is what happens when it has to follow from a lot of chapters that come before it :)  
> Most notably, Galatea was not in a relationship with Aberforth when I first outlined this fic. But I think that he brings a lot to the table - I'm glad that he insisted on getting involved.

Chapter 9  
Aberforth Dumbledore, Galatea Merrythought, and Tom Riddle  
September 1938

Aberforth hurried away to the quarters he shared with Galatea while she was still speaking with the other professors. She seemed to find the Sorting and the Welcoming Feast more exhausting every year. It did not help that, as Deputy Head, she was required to sit next to dippy Dippet. More than 300 years old. Who thought it was a good idea to appoint him Headmaster? He didn’t remember what it was to be 100, much less 11. He spent most of the Feast sniffing his food suspiciously, and babbling about possible curriculum changes that he apparently didn’t realize had already been made decades ago. The only thing that could be said for him was that he was generally affable, and that having his head in the clouds left the faculty relatively free to make their own decisions.

When Galatea finally made it to their rooms, she appeared to be on the edge of collapse. Aberforth greeted her at the door, and pulled her in for a hug.  
“Fifty-six years, Abe. I was sorted fifty-six years ago. It used to be that the First Years looked too young to me. This year, I noticed that two of our fellow teachers are children of former classmates of mine. I’m getting old.”  
“Hmm. I think that you are just getting more brilliant. More experience is a good thing. Why don’t you soak some of that melancholy away? I’ve drawn you a warm bath."  
Galatea pulled back enough to kiss him. “You are the most wonderful man in the universe, Abe. Thank you.”  
"You are the only person who would say so," Aberforth said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear before kissing Galatea again.  
As he watched her walk back towards the bath, he thought, as he had many times before, that he only needed one person who would say so - and he would be forever grateful that that person was Galatea.

After her bath, Galatea settled onto the sofa in her fluffy robe. She had a cup of his tea in her hand, a fire in the fireplace, and her feet in his lap. He was giving her a foot rub as they sat there silently together. Happiness. It had not been something Aberforth had expected.  
Aberforth wished that Galatea could fall asleep right there, could let go of the long day, but she was expecting a visitor. After the Sorting each year, Aethelfrith visited each Head of House, in order to give some general insights into the First Years. As Deputy Head, she was the last to see him.

“I still don’t understand why you allow it,” Aberforth said.  
By ‘it’ he meant ‘the Sorting Hat to sit on your head.’ They both knew this was what he meant, because they had this – argument? – no, conversation – they had this conversation at least once a year.  
“I still don’t understand why you don’t.”

Aberforth had managed, after all these years, to refuse Aethelfrith a seat on his head. Aethelfrith had only sat there the one mandatory time – when Aberforth was sorted.  
“Albus.”  
“That was years ago, Abe. You were children.”  
Aberforth closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m fairly certain he did it again when he came back.”  
“Which time? This last time?”  
“Every time. But yes, this last time. I haven’t been able to _feel_ him doing it since he left that first time with Gellert, but – he always knows things he shouldn’t be able to know. When we were younger and Albus would read me – he’d pull things out of context. It gave him a feeling that he knew me better than he did. I’ve had a long time to think about it – Legilimency is a fool’s game. It wasn’t that Al wasn’t doing it right – it’s that there is no way to do it that truly gives you the complete picture – just glimpses that are necessarily misleading. I do not trust anyone with that kind of half-assed power. Pardon me.”  
Galatea laughed, “It’s cute that you still apologize for your language, after more than ten years together.”  
“Mother taught me that it was rude to use crude language in front of a lady.”  
“ _I_ use crude language, Aberforth.”  
It was a fair point But for all of the effort he put into treating women equally, for some reason, this deference was the hardest habit to rid himself of.

“It makes perfect sense that you find Aethelfrith unnerving. Not wearing him is completely your right and your decision. As for me, I find having Aethelfrith on my head to be convenient, at times. It makes conversations go faster, and it allows for a silent conversation when necessary. But I keep my feelings for you occluded – everything about you, really – so all he gets about you from me is what he observes in the usual way, ok?”  
This was exactly the sort of thing that Aberforth meant – if Galatea was editing him out of the thoughts and memories she shared with the Hat, then the picture the Hat was forming was necessarily distorted. But – it was not as if he had a choice about it – it was Galatea’s decision, and he respected her too much to push his point of view any further. 

It was nearly midnight when the Sorting Hat arrived – the pop of his appearance waking Aberforth.

“What a busy night, my dear Deputy Headmistress. It’s enough to bust an old hat’s seams.”  
Galatea laughed. “You know you like it, Aethelfrith. Better busy than bored.”  
“Tonight was certainly far from boring.”  
“Oh? What do I have to look forward to? Pranksters? Infighting? Sibling squabbles?”  
“It looks like a uncommonly quiet year for Gryffindor House, at any rate. And likely Hufflepuff as well. But you may find... may I sit on your head?”

Aberforth couldn't help but intervene. “It seems ominous, Hat, that you are asking to read her thoughts without even telling her why!”  
It wasn’t _required_ that Aethelfrith be worn for the annual ‘new students’ discussion, but it was common knowledge that it would sometimes be necessary. This was one of the reasons Aberforth continued to decline the position of Head of Gryffindor House.

“Ah, Master Dumbledore, my old friend. A pleasure as always.”  
Aberforth glared. Aethelfrith scowled.  
Galatea rolled her eyes. “Alright. Stand down, both of you.”  
She gestured that Aethelfrith should proceed.  
“I wouldn’t ask if it were not important. Please.”  
When he said ‘please,’ Aberforth knew that Galatea would allow it. She had the conscience of a Hufflepuff.  
“Sure – why not.” Galatea lifted the Hat and sat it on her head. “But you will speak your questions out loud, so Aberforth can hear them too. I am not going to exclude him when he is right here in the room with us. And I’d rather have his insight as we go along.”

Aethelfrith agreed, and then proceeded to ask her questions about her parents and her childhood, about her time as Head of Gryffindor House, about her favourite students... It all seemed impertinent to Aberforth, but he didn’t interrupt. Galatea was a grown witch. She had chosen to put the Hat on her head, and she could choose to take him off.  
“Oh! Interesting. You don’t discriminate against children from the other houses.”  
Galatea looked affronted. She shifted to speaking out loud. “Of course not!”  
“Most professors do.”  
“Oh. That’s – unconscionable. Their Sorting is not a judgment on their characters – it is a ruling on where their best selves are most likely to be nurtured, or at least where their needs are most likely to be met.”  
“You especially liked that Lestrange girl. And Cassiopeia Black.”  
Galatea laughed. “I didn’t even know I was thinking about them. How funny. You are good at your job, Aethelfrith.”  
“Obviously,” he said flatly, haughtily.  
“So why the interrogation, friend?”  
“Have you ever thought about having children, Galatea?”

Galatea looked at Aberforth, alarmed, and immediately removed Aethelfrith from her head.  
“That was a most unexpected question, Aethelfrith. Please excuse me. Aberforth?”  
“Just a minute, dear.” Galatea disappeared into her bedroom.

Aberforth was incensed. It took a lot to overwhelm Galatea. She was the most even-keeled person he knew. He advanced on the Hat.  
“Just so you know, I am fire-proof! And I cannot be torn! And I have loyal house elves who will rise to my defence!”  
“You see here, Hat. I _will_ find a way to destroy you if you mess my Merry about.”  
“I’m not –“  
“What did you mean, asking her such a question?”  
“I – there is a boy I want for her to adopt.”  
“You want for _her_ to adopt? And would you have asked her if I were not here? Do I get a say in this at all, Hat?”  
“Aethelfrith. Call me Aethelfrith.”  
“You are no friend of mine right now.”  
“Just – hear me out? When she comes back?”  
“ _If_ she comes back.”  
And with that, Aberforth entered Galatea’s bedroom, and shut the door behind him. He was careful not to slam it – he didn’t want Merry to think that any part of his anger was for her. 

Galatea was laying on the bed, curled up in a ball. Aberforth lay behind her. “Can I hold you?”  
“Yes,” she whispered.  
He curled up around her and reached his arm around her. She grabbed hold of his hand.  
“Aberforth? We’ve never talked about it.”  
“That’s an answer all its own, isn’t it?”  
“Not really.”

He gave her time to gather her thoughts.  
“I didn’t bring it up in the beginning, because – because it seemed like such an invasion, to have my body be not my own for that long, even if I were interested in what is required to – I – I was afraid that maybe you wanted a child, and that would raise the physical intimacy question all over again, and now I am too old, so if you wanted a baby that would mean finding another witch, and I don’t want you to find another witch, but I want you to be happy …”  
Aberforth interrupted her before she could spiral any further.  
“Merry. _You_ make me happy – more than happy. I would marry you tomorrow if you would have me. I know that you told me no, said that you wanted me to keep my options open, but I don’t need anyone else. Not ever. I had thought that I had been clear that the offer still stands, but – I want you and I to both have the security that comes from openly acknowledging that we are a permanent part of each other’s lives.”  
“Aberforth – you don’t have to –“  
“I know I don’t. And you don’t have to, either. But I want to.”  
Galatea didn’t answer for a little while.  
“So… you don’t want a baby?”

Aberforth sighed. He wasn’t getting an answer tonight, either. Not that he had expected it.  
He squeezed Galatea’s hand to let her know that he’d noticed that she didn’t answer, and that it was alright that she hadn’t.  
“I had never considered it before now. Before I met you, there was no witch I wanted to be in my life in this way. And then when I knew you were always going to be the only one for me, and you didn’t want to... Merry, we _are_ intimate."  
“But not -“  
“Not physically intimate? I would say that we are.” Aberforth held her more tightly against him, rubbed his feet against hers, and kissed the back of her neck to drive home his point.  
"I don't feel limited at all by what you don't want for your body - instead I am grateful for the many ways in which I am invited into your life. I don't need anything more from you. I don't want anything more than what you want to give me. And... you don't want to share in what would be required in order for us to have a child. There has never been anything more to discuss."

"On your back?" Galatea asked uncertainly.  
Aberforth pulled away from her and rolled onto his back, and Galatea moved to lay against him, her head on his chest. He ran his hand through her hair. "I love you," he said quietly. "Me too, Abe. Are you sure?"  
"That I love you?"  
"That you don't want children."  
"Well, there's having a baby, and then there's raising a child. If you were to ask me now whether I would consider _raising a child_ with you… I’m not sure. It’s frightening, after Ariana. It is never possible to protect a child as much as you might want to – there are too many things that can go wrong. But on the other hand, I see my students, and the idea that I might shape one of them more deeply – that I might be one of the most important persons in a child’s life – that I might have someone to love and nurture in a way that is both similar and different to the way I love and nurture you… I might like that. And I think that you would be a brilliant mother. You are wise and caring… and snuggly. But what do _you_ want, Merry?”

She lay in his arms, unpacking all of her thoughts in an increasingly anxious monologue: her fear of the fragility of babies, her limited options as a half-blood, her brilliant Squib sister who had been trapped at home with a parade of tiny demanding humans, the necessary choice between career and family that applied to so many witches but never to wizards, the loss of privacy – of quiet time alone with Aberforth... 

He hadn’t thought of that – that evenings like this one might suddenly become impossible. Their time together was the best part of his life – he didn’t want to lose any time with her – and he hated how that thought made him feel like a selfish bastard. He was no better than his brother, running off and abandoning him and his sister in order to spend more time with Grindelwald.

He tuned back in as her tone shifted. She was beginning to list the reasons she might want to be a parent: her longing to shape a child in a way different from the way she shaped her students – the freedom to love a child deeply and unconditionally, the privilege of being confided in, of having a front row seat to the unfolding of a child into a young adult.  
And finally, “We have so much to share, you and I. So much love, so much money even – we hardly spend anything we earn. The cottage is such a restful place, and there is plenty of room there for one more person. We simply have so much more than we need for ourselves alone.  
“I think – I think we should consider it.”

Aberforth sighed. “I imagine that this is an adoption interview, then, Merry. That Hat has a child it wants us to parent. God help me, I’m going to have to put that damned – sorry – that annoying hat on my head.”  
“Are you sure, Love?”  
“He’ll want to know what I think. And honestly, I want to know what I think.”  
“Aberforth? I love you.”  
“I love you too, Merry.”

*********

“Alright then, Ha- Aethelfrith. Do your worst.”  
Aethelfrith was startled to find Aberforth lifting him up, not to toss him across the room, but to set him on his head. And much more surprised at the thoughts and memories Aberforth opened up to him – his feelings about Ariana, about what family had been for him and what he thought it should be, about love and children and his students and what happiness looked like. And then, surprising even himself, Aberforth opened up all he felt for Galatea: love and friendship and companionship and warmth and acceptance and home.

Then it was Galatea’s turn.

Finally, she removed Aethelfrith from her head, and sat him on a chair. She went back to the sofa and snuggled up against Aberforth, and he played with her hair.

“Lovely. I saw all that I had hoped for and more,” said Aethelfrith.  
“There is a student that needs your help. A Ravenclaw. It is true that a couple your age rarely takes in a baby unless they have a family obligation, but it seems neither of you wants a baby anyway. It is far more difficult to find parents for an 11-year old. Much less parents qualified to care for an 11-year old magical orphan, raised by Muggles – if you can even call it raising.”  
“You want us to adopt an 11-year old Ravenclaw – who has only now been introduced to our world?” asked Galatea.  
“Yes. Yes, I do. And who but half-bloods would be prepared to take in a Muggleborn child?”  
“But – why does he need a parent at all? He will be here most of the year anyway!”

That was one of the few wrong things that Galatea could say in front of Aberforth.  
“Everyone needs a family, Merrythought. Where is he going to go over the summer? Who is the Headmaster going to call if he gets injured? Who is going to buy him presents for Yule, or Christmas, or what have you? He – damn it, no. I’m sorry, but it is not a question of whether he needs parents – only a question of whether those parents will be us.”

“Indeed,” said Aethelfrith. “I fear what will happen to him if he remains the ward of the orphanage. Already his ability to feel has been – damaged. He is in Ravenclaw because I hope to channel this detachment into a relationship with books, rather than into a habit of manipulating others.”  
Aberforth was brought up short. “A habit of manipulating others?”  
Aethefrith replied, “I don’t even need to be on your head to know what you are thinking, Aberforth. He’s not your brother, nor is he Grindelwald. He’s his own person. Unlike them – for good and ill – he does not see other people as interesting at the moment, beyond what he can get from them. And for now, he has no agenda beyond his own survival. He can go down one of two roads: what I hope is that he will find knowledge to be of more interest than power. But if he continues to be in a position where he is motivated by survival above all, in a situation where survival is all too uncertain…?” 

Galatea rolled her eyes at Aethelfrith’s dramatics. “Surely he is not in such extreme danger?”  
“I cannot tell you in detail, because I have an obligation to keep confidences. In broad strokes: He doesn’t get enough food. He is attacked in his sleep by other children. He is not given more than one thin blanket, in an unheated room. Even with his wizard’s immunity, he has suffered the flu twice already. And they have noticed his accidental magic – or at least that odd things happen around him. He is feared. There have been – consequences.”

Galatea sighed. She had told Aberforth about her local priest – how she had been an object of his despair, disgust, and censure when odd things began happening around her. He had suggested an exorcism, as well as ‘beating the devil out of her.’ His sister wasn’t the only witch who had found Muggles to be dangerous. On that, Aberforth could agree with his brother. 

“He’s been without parents for so long. Will he want parents? Will he want us?” Galatea asked.  
“He is hardened. He doesn’t believe that anyone will ever want him for him. He feels that his magic is his only value. You will each need to find a connection with him that is not focused on his raw magical power, which is considerable. Perhaps his thirst for knowledge, his intellectual curiosity, his desire to prove himself, his discipline. He draws, he is naturally athletic. Praise him, encourage him in any of that, and over time you might find him opening enough to make the offer. Better for Aberforth to approach him about it. I think that he will indeed accept, if only to not have to return to the orphanage in the summertime.”

Galatea looked at Aberforth, who nodded. “Challenge accepted, then.”  
“Don’t mess it up, Gryffindors. Don’t play all of your cards at once. You are going to need to be at least a little bit cagey.”  
Galatea laughed. “Understood.”  
Aberforth added, “Luckily Galatea can do cagey.”  
“Yes, from you I suppose we shall need gruff and laconic.”  
Aberforth scowled. "Impertinent Hat."

“What is his name?” asked Galatea.  
“Tom. Tom Riddle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic started with a question: What would have happened if Tom Riddle had been sorted differently? Could the Sorting Hat have prevented Tom from becoming Voldemort? What would it have taken for him to have instead become, say, a beloved (if emotionally stunted) professor at Hogwarts, say?
> 
> I concluded that if Tom had been sorted differently AND if he had never had Albus Dumbledore as a professor AND if he had not had to go back to Wool's every summer, then that might have been enough to prevent the loss of the many Wix who perished in Britain's First and Second Wizarding Wars. And then I set out to determine how I could make all of that happen.
> 
> Or, put differently, this fic was the result of trying to spare the characters of the Harry Potter books the better part of their angst - most of which could be attributed to two men: Voldemort and Albus.


	10. 1939: Tom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravenclaw!Tom is curious - about Aethelfrith, about his adoptive father, about Wizarding Politics, and especially about Albus Dumbeldore.

Chapter 10  
Tom Riddle  
October 1939

It was after dinner, a week before Samhain. Tom was in a secluded corner of library, as he so often was. There were so many things to know – so much to catch up on that his peers already knew. Tonight, he was reading back issues of wizarding newspapers, trying to learn all he could about the Dumbledore family, and how they were related to the movement to tighten restrictions on Muggle-Wizarding relations. He was fascinated by the way that Ariana Dumbledore had been used as a symbol of the need to keep wizards out of Muggle areas. So far, it was not clear whether her older brothers had approved of this politicizing of her story. It didn’t seem like Aberforth would have liked it. He was too private to want his family splashed all over the papers. But Tom had only gotten as far as 1902 in his reading – there was sure to be much more to the story.

With a quiet pop, the Sorting Hat appeared atop the newspapers Tom had stacked on the table beside his armchair.  
Tom scowled. “You said you would visit me.”  
“I am visiting.”  
Tom huffed. “Well. I thought you would visit more often.” More often than once a school year. If the Sorting even counted as a visit. This was the first time the Hat had appeared to him since then. He looked around, realizing that he might soon be located and admonished for making noise in the library. “But not here, for Pete’s – uh, Merlin’s sake!”  
“I will try to come more often. But for now, why don’t you put me on your head? Then we will not have to speak out loud at all.” 

Tom eyed the Hat warily. Last time, the Hat had assured him that his secrets would be safe, but he suspected the Hat of sharing some of what he had learned from Tom’s thoughts, at least with Merrythought and Aberforth if no one else.  
And he had heard Aberforth complain about “the gross imprecision of so-called mind reading” on more than one occasion.  
But the reward seemed to justify the risk. He lifted the Hat and settled it on his head.

“First off, you need to stop referring to me as ‘Hat’ or ‘the Hat.’ My name is Aethelfrith.”  
“After King Aethelfrith?”  
“Oh! Very good! I don’t know if someone has picked up on that reference since your Merrythought.  
“Interesting. You don’t like for me to call her ‘your Merrythought.’ You don’t really trust that she’s yours. Ah. And you don’t like having to rely on someone. It seems soft. It seems – yes. Dangerous.”  
“I don’t _have to_ rely on anyone!”  
“Indeed you don’t. But you can choose to.”  
Tom strangled a throw pillow. Clearly, Aberforth had had a point.  
“I didn’t invite you into my head to psycho-analyze me!”  
“No?” The Hat – Aethelfrith – sounded amused, which only infuriated Tom more.  
“No,” he ground out. “I only conceded to have you on my head so we could communicate silently. And so that I could learn from you. I have questions.”  
“Alright, Tom, ask away.”

Tom took a calming breath. Merrythought was fond of calming breaths, and suggested them to Tom frequently.  
“How can you just appear anywhere like that? Do you have control over it? I haven’t heard of any spells that give inanimate objects the ability to apparate at will. Then again, I haven’t heard of any spells that give sentience to non-sentient creatures in the first place. Or of a spell besides Legilimens that allows the caster to read a mind. Can you read anyone’s minds? Can you read house-elf minds? Centaur minds? Or just human minds? Or only humans under the authority of Hogwarts? If I come back to visit after I graduate, will you not have any power over me? Are you casting a spell each time? Can inanimate objects even cast spells? How did Gryffindor enchant you? Did he really do it by himself? Or did the other Founders help him? Do you remember your first thought after you were enchanted, or does your memory get fuzzy with the passage of years in the same way a human’s does? What were the Founders like? What subjects did they teach in the beginning? Who –“

The Hat laughed as he interrupted Tom’s barrage of questions. “That will be quite enough to go on for tonight, young man. Enough and more than enough. I can see that I do indeed need to come more often, if only to lessen the number of questions that accumulate between visits!”  
Ah. So the Hat could choose where or when to appear. Which meant that he had been neglecting Tom, which was – typical. This was why not to rely on people. Or hats, apparently.

“I’m sorry, Tom. You are right. I ought to have come earlier. I really have very little excuse for it, other than that I wanted you to have a chance to settle in with Merrythought and Aberforth without my interference. But that was a bad choice, and I apologize.”  
Tom rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose. Will you answer my questions now that you are here, at least?”  
“I will do my best.”

“Let’s begin with sentience. Godric did not mean for me to become sentient in the way that you are probably thinking. I was not given a will – I was not specifically embued with an ability to make choices and comparisons. Instead, the voices of the Founders were enchanted into my fabric. In the way that portraits, shadows of the souls of their subjects, may interact with living people today, the voices of the Founders would interact with me, as I stood between them and the student being sorted. These – remnants of the Founders’ personalities, or at least of what they thought to preserve of their personalities, made the decisions.  
“But they made two mistakes. First, they did not sufficiently understand the spell they had cast, and as their blood faded from the ward stones, so did their voices slowly fade in my – mind, for lack of a better word.

“Second, they gave me a memory.”  
“A memory? But why -?”  
“Long term memory, because they wanted me to be able to give testimony, if there was a contested sorting. And short term memory, so that I could hold information in my head long enough to declare a house for the child being sorted. But I believe you mean, why was giving me memory a mistake? Memory is the foundation of thought, of decision making, of reason. In order for me to have a memory that can be accessed, I must have a framework for storing those memories. And the common framework is comparison – chaining like memories together. It is a short step from comparison to decision making. With memory, I was bound to begin making my own choices.”

“Ah. You are wondering if people with better functioning memories make better choices. That is an interesting question. For better or for worse, I remember everything. For more than 1000 years.”  
“But it is getting too late to be adding questions to the list...”  
“No it’s not!” Tom protested. “And you haven’t even answered half of my first questions. And besides, _Baivenjar_ , we –“

“Where did you hear that name?!” Aethelfrith interrupted.  
“I read it in a book –“  
“Oh I see. I recognize that handwriting. That was no ordinary book. Where did you – The Room of Lost Things? Fascinating! I’ve heard of that room. Never been there…  
“Ah, you didn’t know! That book was one of Godric’s journals. Do you still have it? Treasure it, Tom – and share it with Merrythought – she will hardly know what to do with herself.  
“Gods. I had no notion that anything of his had survived, besides myself and his sword.”

The name ‘Baivenjar’ had distressed the Hat. Why, Tom wondered.  
“The journal didn’t refer to you as Aethelfrith anywhere. Why didn’t I find any references to your other name in the journal?”  
The Hat sighed. “Baivenjar means ‘mean fellow’ in Godric’s native tongue, Cumbrian. That is what Godric called me when he was angry that some enchantment he was trying to lay on me wasn’t working. My proper name when I was first enchanted was ‘Cruit,’ meaning small and crooked in Scots Gaelic.  
“I hated when he called me ‘Baivenjar.’ As if it was my fault that he was too impatient to create new spells. He should have asked Helga. Really, any of them but himself.”

“But you still haven’t told me where the name Aethelfrith came from.”  
“’Small and crooked’ is a rather undignified name for a creature with such abilities as my own. When there were none left who remembered the name the Founders gave me, I chose Aethelfrith. He was a great man – he united two kingdoms, and as a practitioner of the Old Ways, he gave sanctuary to Wizards at a time when there were fewer and fewer Muggles who would welcome them. It seemed an auspicious name. To me, it stands for unity and welcome.”  
Tom laughed, “A king, though. That’s – not grandiose at all.”  
Aethelfrith huffed. “Well. I _am_ one of the most powerful entities at Hogwarts.”

“True.”  
“You’re thinking of Merrythought again. You are not sure whether to credit me or blame me for her interest in you. I believe that she is the one that you should credit. No matter what I may or may not have told her, she would not have adopted you if she did not take interest in you for yourself, for what she saw in you herself, in her classes, in the halls. And she certainly wouldn’t have adopted you if Professor Dumbledore had not felt strongly about adopting you as well. They respect one another – and you – too much to commit to you without being in perfect agreement.  
“No, I suppose it is harder to tell how he feels about you. But the very fact that he seeks out your presence when he doesn’t have to is a sign that he holds you in high regard. It is rare for me to place an introvert in Gryffindor, but it happens.”

“Merrythought and Aberforth seem – ok. They are better than Wool’s, of course. But –“  
“Why would they bother with you? What do they hope to gain? For Merrythought, it is simple: she enjoys your company.”  
“And Aberforth?”  
“According to Merrythought, he appreciates your work ethic and your sense of humour. And he believes strongly in family being important.”  
“According to Merrythought?”  
“I can’t know for sure about Aberforth; he doesn’t let me sit on his head.”  
Tom snorted. “He is smarter than I have been giving him credit for.”

“I don’t need people, you know," Tom continued. "I was fine by myself.”  
“Ah. Tom. We all need people. You need people to write the books you read, and to grow the food you eat. You need a librarian to procure the books for the library, and goblins to manage your money and elves to wash your sheets and a talking hat to tell you about the Founders.”  
“That is not the same as – as needing someone to eat dinner with, or to pester me into helping weed the garden.”  
“No, it is not. But then again, perhaps it is. Having people – friends, family – can make life both easier and more interesting.”  
“People can also make life more difficult.”  
“Yes, I see that Professor Dumbledore intervenes when he thinks you are going to hurt a person or an animal.”  
“It’s not just that!”  
“No. Galatea doesn’t let you floo off somewhere without telling her where you are going. Tell me – how often were you allowed to leave Wool’s?”  
“Gods! Why are you _pushing_ this?! I already said that they seem ok.”  
“I just want you to consider that they may not be using you in any way that could be deemed asymmetrical.”

“Fine. I'll concede your point if we can just move on. You haven't told me yet about your apparition...”  
“Oh no – not tonight, Mr. Riddle. It looks like you have plenty here to read about the Dumbledores, and so little time before curfew. Interesting case, Albus Dumbledore...”  
“Can you tell me more about him? And Ariana?”  
“You will need to ask Aberforth. I can tell you that Ariana died many years ago, and that, as far as I know, no one in all of Britain knows where Albus is right now, not even Aberforth – so Aberforth is the only Dumbledore available to you. That is all I’m inclined to tell you at the moment. Aberforth is one of your guardians, and he should get to choose what personal information he shares about his family – and about himself.”  
“I don’t think he’d like talking about it. They say his sister killed his mother, and he’s so private, he’s always complaining about ‘folks prying where they’re not wanted.’”  
“Oh, he’s not speaking generally, Tom. He is referring to his brother and I – the two of us have been provoking him consistently for years with our ‘impertinent nosiness’, as he calls it. With anyone else, his anger burns off pretty quickly. He might get angry at first, but he’ll forgive you in less than five minutes – and I imagine you’ll agree that the answers you want are worth a wait that short.”

Tom considered that. What would it be like to not hold a grudge? Liberating, probably. Protracted anger could make an inconvenient attachment as surely as love could. He wondered who he could talk to about that. And then he remembered that, if he didn’t need anyone, then he didn’t need anyone to help him think through this new insight.  
“That’s another question for another night, young man.”  
“I didn’t ask you a question.”  
“No, I suppose you didn’t…”

“I have a question for you, though, Tom – how did you become so interested in Albus?”  
“When she took me to buy my school supplies, Professor Black said that if Albus Dumbledore had not ‘stupidly left the country,’ then I would not have been brought up at Wool’s. I asked her if that meant that I was related to Dumbledore, and she said no, that he had been a politician, and he ‘shouldn’t have given up on a political solution.’ And then she wouldn’t say anything more about it. And then I met Aberforth, and I began to wonder if they were related, but he's so... Anyway. My only option then are these newspapers. Now I've tried asking you, and you won’t tell me either!”

“I tell you what, Tom – I will give you one clue – you should also be looking for mentions of Gellert Grindelwald.”  
“Who is Gellert Grindelwald?”  
“An associate of Albus’, and a public figure in his own right. The connection is not often commented on in the newspapers, but if anyone knows where Albus is, Gellert does. Not that anyone knows where Gellert is at the moment, either.  
“In any case, you may get to meet Albus yet. He drops in on Aberforth every few years. Brothers find it hard to ignore one another, generally. And they do love each other in their own way. For anything more, you will need to talk to Aberforth. But I would not mention Gellert to him if I were you – they do not much care for one another.”  
“Neither ought you to bother with Minerva any further. Albus tends to avoid her, and she has refused to speak to him for more than a decade. I’m not surprised that she couldn’t resist blaming him for your situation – and less surprised that she wouldn’t tell you more. She was very attached to him.”

This was exactly Tom's point. “See what I mean? She and Dumbledore were friends. Which means she got emotionally involved – she _needed him_ on some level. And ‘stupidly left the country’ implies she felt betrayed – abandoned by him. If she hadn’t let herself need him, she wouldn’t have felt hurt when he left –“  
“And she would have been able to tell you more about him?” Aethelfrith laughed. 

It was true that it made Tom angry to be denied information. It hadn’t been fair for Professor Black to tease the story and then refuse to give him the important bits.  
“Well, you may not be able to talk to Professor Black, but you have Aberforth, and you can talk to your Merrythought about Albus, too. She is not an entirely unbiased source when it comes to the Dumbledore family – she is very protective of Aberforth. But she has met his brother.”

“There you go again - my Merrythought.”  
“She is, you know. You don’t have to share her with anyone but Aberforth. She’s a teacher to many, but a parent only to you.”  
Tom huffed. “I thought you wanted to stop talking so I could wrap up my reading.”

Aethelfrith laughed. “Indeed. My apologies. May I sit on your head while you read? You are not the only one hungry for information. If I stay here, I can acquire what you read.”  
Tom hesitated. “I imagine you know about everything I’m reading already. You would probably be bored.”  
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. It looks like you have a great stack of issues of _The Daily Prophet_ , and I used to avoid that rag as much as possible, until Merrythought persuaded me otherwise. Perhaps it is time to learn what they were saying at the time, and compare it to what I know.”

“Then I propose a trade. You can sit on my head quietly ‘listening’ to me read, if you promise to discuss whatever we read with me afterwards. You have admitted that you have context that will make anything I read more meaningful to you than it is to me, and that seems, as you said, asymmetrical.”  
“Well bargained, Tom. That’s only fair. But I will not break any confidences, and I won’t be able to share my thoughts tonight. It is too near curfew.”  
“Tomorrow night? After dinner? We can read, and then we can discuss both days’ readings.”

Walking back to Ravenclaw tower that evening, Tom felt a flash of pride in his cleverness at luring Aethelfrith into more frequent visits with the promise of shared reading. The Hat knew more than anybody at Hogwarts – perhaps more than anyone at all. But just as importantly, Aethelfrith was decidedly not a person – and that made him more interesting than anyone else in the castle. 

Aberforth was interesting too, for a person – and becoming more and more interesting, the more he read about Ariana and turn of the century wizarding politics. Perhaps on Saturday, he would ask Aberforth to tell him about his ‘stupid’ older brother.


	11. 1942: Armando Dippet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Headmaster Dippet hasn't become less attentive, exactly - but he is no better than he ever was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Way back in November 2019, I posted a note promising that this fic was not being abandoned – I went so far as to make a Pinkie Promise (Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye) – I had put this fic on hold because the original plan had been to make this mesh perfectly with my Grindeldore fic The Greater Good.  
> The problem was, as I got further along in The Greater Good, the fic got longer, and the plot morphed completely from its original outline. And – I froze. I didn’t want to write myself into a box here. Or post things and then have to toss them.  
> But it has _finally_ occurred to me – these two fics do not have to happen in the same universe! So, I can go ahead with this fic, following its original outline, without it needing to be compliant with The Greater Good in any way. 
> 
> Which means… I am back at work on this story – thanks for hanging in there while I worked it out.

Chapter 11  
Armando Dippet  
January 1943

“Headmaster?”  
Dippet did not reply. Instead he opened a drawer, rummaged through it in a cursory way, muttered, ‘Where is that blasted thing?’ and closed the drawer again.  
“Headmaster!”

“There’s no _time_ , Aethelfrith! The students return next week! So much to do!” He opened another drawer. “Not _that_ quill. No, no, no. Where is The Derwent Quill?”  
“Headmaster. The students returned _yesterday_.” 

Aethelfrith made no effort to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Had the Headmaster come back for any other reason than to find his favourite quill? A quill which Aethlfrith could decisively say had _not_ , in fact, belonged to Dilys – at least not during her tenure as Headmistress.

“Yesterday? Nonsense! I am not getting too old to remember whether I attended a feast yesterday!”

A less honest hat might say that these conversations had been becoming more and more frequent recently. Instead, Aethelfrith felt compelled to admit, at least to himself, that Dippet’s ineptitude had been evident from his first year as Headmaster. His ineptitude and his absenteeism.

“Headmaster Dippet. You were in Cornwall for the past two weeks, I believe. Something about meeting a possible collaborator and comparing research notes about your theory that the Statute of Secrecy was simply formalizing a separation that had been gradually accomplished over a period of 60 or more years.” Without reference to the Malfoys, and a handful of other influential families, who held on to the bitter end. But Aethelfrith knew there was little point in contradicting the stubborn Headmaster. 

“Yes, I was in Cornwall. But I don’t see...”  
“You could not possibly know whether a feast took place in the Great Hall yesterday if you did not return from Cornwall until this morning.”  
Headmaster Dippet sputtered. “I am the Headmaster! I ought to have been told! I ought to have been summoned!”

“You _were_ summoned. More than one Professor owled you over the past four days. As well as a few concerned parents, who remembered your absence at this year’s Welcoming Feast. The most recent that I know of was your Deputy Head, who sent an owl to you two days ago, a Patronus yesterday three hours before the feast, and excused herself midway through the feast to send yet another Patronus imploring you to come at least for the end of the feast.”

Dippet scowled. “She’s _always_ imploring me.” He affected a whiny falsetto that was higher than Merrythought’s by more than half an octave. “’Come back, Headmaster! The students need you, Headmaster! I thought you should know, Headmaster! It is important, Headmaster!’  
”Honestly, I have stopped listening.”

Once again, a less honest hat would have seen this as a concerning new development. But Aethelfrith would have been surprised if the Headmaster had not used the occasion to label his Deputy Head as a mere nag. For years, it had been obvious that Dippet found much of his job irrelevant and boring. Aethelfrith had come to learn that Dippet had taken the job because he had been flattered to be asked, and because of the ‘historical significance’ of the Castle and its collections. He had quickly become bored.

Aethelfrith found the Headmaster’s boredom offensive. He was three times older than Dippet, and did not find his job to be at all boring. _The students_ were what made the job interesting. But Dippet could not be bothered to spend time with his students – to get to know them even in a superficial way – and so he would never come to care for them. Which meant that he would never truly understand the purpose of the school, much less the purpose of his position.

The Headmaster was meant to behave as if he were the Head of an Ancient and Noble House. He was to know and preside over the needs and concerns of every student. Like any other patriarch, he would do best to delegate the day to day care of students to households (or, in this case, to the four Houses, with their heads and prefects), but the most important decisions were the responsibility of the Headmaster: enacting policies that affected large groups of students, providing support (and, if necessary, making decisions) regarding consequential personal matters when the parents could not be reached, arbitrating disagreements, providing oversight to ensure that each House was indeed caring for its members, and so on.

It was obvious that Dippet was ill-suited for these responsibilities, but he had been the only Pureblood who had agreed to take the position. Every Head of Hogwarts for the past 200 years had been a Pureblood. Given that the majority of the professors were Half-bloods, it was almost always the case that the Headmaster or Headmistress had no experience teaching. The only of these Heads who had been competent had been Dilys (who was a Healer, and so well accustomed with balancing the needs and wants of people in crisis) and Mordicus – who had been one of the rare Pureblood professors. 

It wasn’t only the lack of experience that concerned Aethelfrith, however. It was also true that the unique needs and perspectives of students who had been brought up with Muggles tended to be overlooked by Purebloods, who typically had no exposure to the Muggle world. Every year, Aethelfrith argued with the current Headmaster that students living in largely Muggle areas needed to be offered sanctuary in Hogwarts – or at least on the estates of willing Purebloods – over the summer. 

Only Headmasters Fortescue and Black had agreed, and Black's reasoning was troubling. If the Board of Governors had not intervened, Black would have essentially kidnapped all Muggleborn and Half-Blood students, forcing them to cut all ties with their families, and giving them to Purebloods to raise as wards. As it was, he managed to manipulate several students into ill-considered vows. 

Headmaster Dippet did not have any interest in (nor knowledge of!) Muggle affairs after 1692. He was two and a half centuries behind the times. Today, Muggles did not need to perceive, believe in, or even be much affected by magic in order to be a danger to Wix everywhere. They were brutally destructive. If Grindelwald had been right about anything, it was that. 

Airplanes and submarines, tanks, bombs, chemical weapons... Aethelfrith had seen the most disturbing things in the minds of the children he sorted. Not too long ago, eight Wizards had been killed in a single month when London was bombed – and countless Muggles who were friends or family to Hogwarts students and faculty. Dippet had done nothing, said nothing to acknowledge the loss.

“While you were talking to your – research partner – did you happen to talk about the War at all?”  
“The War is over. Dumbledore and Grindelwald have been captured, the magic of their agents has been bound…”  
“Do not deceive yourself that the War is over just because those two idiots were apprehended. Their intent was to embroil the Muggles in an endless war of attrition, and the latest Muggle war continues, Headmaster. Just as they had intended.”

Dippet waved his hand dismissively. “Muggles have always had their wars. They will kill each other with or without our help. Either way, I do not see what this has to do with me.”  
“No. I imagine not… How is your research going?”  
“Well, very well. But I fear that I will not live to see it completed.”

Aethelfrith had been hoping for this opening. Dippet had been at the helm for long enough. Too long.  
“Have you ever thought of devoting all of your time to it?”  
“I couldn’t! What about Hogwarts?”  
Indeed.

“What about it? Surely the Board of Governors can enlist another Head, but you are the only one who equipped to truly unfold the history of the Statute of Secrecy. A scholar of your calibre, you’re wasted shuffling parchment in this office.”  
It made Aethelfrith a bit ill to flatter Dippet in this way, but he was dangerously out of touch. Almost anyone would be better.

Would Albus have been better? Aethelfrith second-guessed himself for a moment. The oldest Dumbledore boy’s earliest ambition had been to become the Headmaster. The child had briefly considered that it would have been even better to be the Sorting Hat, before admitting to himself that one may not aspire to become a hat. 

Aethelfrith had been frightened by that child’s insight. Few adults understood that being Head of Hogwarts meant shaping the majority of British Wix children. There was perhaps no more powerful position in Britain, and Albus had appreciated the possibilities immediately.

Perhaps he had been too hasty. But there was no undoing the past. He had to make his decisions based upon the barest glance at an 11 year old’s head. And although he still believed what he had told Minerva decades ago – that she had a choice about where to go next once she disembarked from Ravenclaw – it was nonetheless the case that a child’s peers shaped their personalities. Particularly at that age, particularly with scant adult supervision.

Aberforth had scolded Aethelfrith more than once for not checking in with Albus as he had with Aberforth, but there were too many children for him to be able to form personal relationships with – and he had not wanted to give that boy any more resources than he had so quickly acquired on his own. But perhaps Aberforth was right. 

At the time, keeping Albus from becoming Head of Hogwarts had been Aethelfrith’s first concern. There had only been one Slytherin Headmaster. By and large, Slytherins went into business, or finance, or politics. Even as a Half-blood, Albus was sufficiently intelligent and ambitious that he was certain to be sponsored by a powerful Pureblood family and groomed for a position of influence - he would be discouraged from his ambitions to Head Hogwarts, and encouraged to use his talents in a 'more suitable' way, and so be steered out of Aethelfrith's way. 

Aethelfrith had seen right away that Albus had stubbornness and cunning necessary to break the Pureblood hold on the position, without any help from him. And while he would welcome a Half-blood in the position, Albus was not the Half-blood he wanted. Albus did not see people as ends in their own right, and Half-blood or not, Aethelfrith had no intention of letting his adult self have absolute authority over so many children. But would Albus have continued to see people as instruments if he had been sorted into another house? 

What house? He would have been isolated in Hufflepuff - completely unable to relate to his housemates. Gryffindor would have reinforced his recklessness and stubbornness, and Ravenclaw would have turned him further down the path of seeing people as elements in an equation. Ravenclaws need be loyal to no one. Not that they weren't, necessarily - there were many kind Ravenclaws, Ravenclaws who cared deeply about other people. (Aethelfrith thought of Minerva again, as he did so often.) But such care was extraneous to what defined a Ravenclaw.

Not so in Slytherin. Slytherins were often seen as cold and manipulative, but not _every_ person was an instrument to a Slytherin - they tended to care about a small handful of people, at least. Not people as an abstract concept, not people in general, but particular people. Albus had cared about Ariana, for instance - at least enough to want to protect her. And he had wanted to protect his brother and his mother from Ariana. And, Aethelfrith grudgingly admitted, he seemed to continue to care for his brother, after that early failure at caretaking when he left Aberforth in Headmaster Black's hands.

He cared about Grindelwald, too, of course - more than he cared about anyone else. There were those who bemoaned the loss of a great mind to Grindelwald, and indeed Aethelfrith had hoped for better from him. But Grindelwald would have been no worse apart from Dumbeldore. And Aethelfrith still believed that Dumbledore would have done such damage as Head Chessmaster of Hogwarts. Far more damage than Dippet had done through his inattention.

“Perhaps you are right, Aethelfrith. One more year. One more year to get my affairs in order here, and to prepare Soren to take over...”

Not Soren Amundson! It might be hard to do worse than Dippet, but the Magical Theory teacher was all ceremony and very little substance. He would focus on all the wrong things. And as the first Pureblood professor to be under consideration in more than 100 years, he was sure to be given the post.  
It would be up to Aethelfrith to convince Soren that the position was beneath him. That there would be too much work to allow him to keep up with society functions. 

If Aethelfrith could somehow ensure that there were no Pureblood candidates, then perhaps the Board would consider Galatea as the next Head. He was grateful that Headmaster Everard had pushed for the Hat to be made a non-voting member of the Board. Perhaps he could distract them from Merrythought’s heritage. Yes. She was the best choice. Too bad there was no love lost between her and Dippet. Hopefully the Headmaster would be too inept to recruit another Pureblood, once Aethelfrith persuaded Soren to refuse. 

“Now,” Dippet sighed, sounding very put upon. “I imagine there is something that someone is _expecting of me_. Staff meeting?”  
“Tomorrow. I think supper is next, making an appearance in the Great Hall.”  
“I suppose it can’t be helped.”  
Dippet struggled into his outer robes, and wandered out of his office, muttering. “Another year...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about the Malfoy family fighting the Statute of Secrecy? That's canon. A lot of their money came from financial and political dealings with Muggles. It is only after the Statute was established that they turned their political attentions to the Ministry of Magic.


End file.
